This is Mr. Nicholson from Cotton Correctional Facility in Jackson, MI again, back again. Just wanting to let anybody know, if you hear this phone, feel free to donate to these people who are recording this stuff for us. They’re doing good stuff. I’m still waiting to get my rest of my stimulus and I’m gonna donate to- but this poem, I call it “Hypocrisy.”
It’s sort of funny how things used to be when I seen the scenes between the cinder blocks of the half wall of the toilet stall filed down clean. I’d say to myself, “I know what that means.”
There’s knives on the rock made mean, made clean, so what’s funny? Well, what’s funny is, now, the scarred walls may mean paraphernalias being honed expertly just to smoke some tunechi, to get them high hallucinogenically.
I may even get a knife in me for telling facts truthfully, but I’m free, so that’s an invitation to me, therefore I’m free to speak what I see, detailed, yet without specificity, cause snitches get stitches, right?
While we all want mercy, hmm, that’s some hypocrisy, wouldn’t you agree? “Freedom, we want freedom,” but are we freed from vices that bring harm? No cause for alarm as I lay these bars in prose, which are multiverse from the multiverse, cause my abba controls the universe, so I offer insight often unheard. Too many scream freedom, but y’all ain’t freed from broken allegiance.
I pledge allegiance to Jesus, FYI, in case you can’t see this. Now you can deny this Jesus and even get some freedom from these bars, but your broken hearts will betray you and cause you to hate you, so your freedom causes broken starts.
Recidivists play your parts, dance on the strings with broken wings for puppet masters who only want your disasters. You follow after patterns instead of overcoming as adapters with eternal status, and though I’m apt to rrap this, I let my poetry handle this as I digress. Thank you.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.