What I learned in Prison

Carlotta by Carma Nibarger

I've seen the photographs. The macaw blue eyeshadow and the slitted skirt. I can see myself slowly devolving For you. I've bleached my hair, And every morning I reach for the Frosted Blush tube of lipstick. Just for you. I do.

Like her, I want to be your favorite ball of string. With your careful instruction, I too, can be the blow-job poster-girl White streaked hair and wet lips (parted) With a hot bowlish mouth, eyes as contemplative As dried squirrel turds, And I will wear your cum like A Beauty Queen's sash.

When you look at me, you can Ignore my crooked bicuspid, and Super-impose on my smile Her dazzling Oyster-shit teeth. Forget my flaws and live in the past. Her precious perfection. Idolatry at its finest.

I will be what she was before she frayed. You can objectify me, Fetishize me And do what ever you did with she. I promise No complaints.

And together, her ghost and I will join To become one holy consumable victim of you.

What I Learned in Prison by Brant Fechter

I've learned that mothers Are always right, And that fathers will Agree unless if it costs them money.

There is no way To be completely happy outside, Unless it's to get food, Or you are with someone you love.

Friends are only worth your time If they make a specific point Of calling you on April Fool's Day Each year with a new lie for you.

Cheaters love to race And to count things, Lovers are always broke And give away everything.

Cars were made for Make out sessions In the back seat When parents are at home.

Trust can be bought And happiness is everywhere There's a laugh, a smile, Or a memory.

Fast red cars are gold Until robots will obey Each person's command, Or I have children.

Answering a phone Is like solving a math equation, And having an answering machine Is like using a calculator.

Freedom always costs money, So if you have enough dough You can buy lots of cars With tinted windows and big back seats

Attic Space by Sarah Jacobi

they're almost gone now3 white scars are all that remain of her addiction twenty white pills beside the Bible in her bedside table drawer and the used syringe-last call for the night all you need is love? tell that to the husband who works late every night to escape what he's created, a monster he sleeps beside-his wife

2 girl childrem who can't remember smiling parents they must have been in love, right? no photos, however, survive from that period growing up lonely in middle class suburban hell lying to school secretaries and teachers and always fetching her more pills he's never home he could be dead, he's dead already in thier eyes

resentment, jealousy, hate, fearthe endless cycles of marriage counseling and rehab this time it'll happen, this time she'll leave, this time it's over! it takes 8 more years.

looking back, i can't believe i ever escaped and appear so "normal" nowbut then i learned deception early and when i can still see her oh so faint scar tissue in a certain light, i'm 8 all over again. the next morning i always wake to the remembered screams of my long dead childhood and my pounding heart.