i’m scratching the walls,
i’m scratching the harmless table,
i’m clawing at the windows – or at least i try it is at least half a metre taller than i am,
i’m clawing at the bare basin,
i’m clawing at the corners of the floor,
i’m clawing at the slab of plastic bed,
i’m clawing on my scabs.
i’m digging deep on my scars.
i’m digging until i see the bones.
i’m digging till i see a space for my body.
just wrote a random response piece to the recent visit to the Reading Gaol/Prison where Oscar Wilde was imprisoned many years ago. it continued its run until 2013. there were 3 cells with furnitures made of plastic for prisoners who were at risk of self-harm.
also, after taking modules about deviance (from my lit class) and criminology, i’ve been exposed to what it is on criminal acts and the consequences suffered in prison. drug abuse or drug embracing for the purpose of art, thanks Burroughs and Ginsberg and many more. and really thinking through about how beneficial prison is for the criminal. so many factors. is it really the most efficient way of rehabilitating the individual back into society?
below is my favourite piece that i read at the prison, can’t believe it isn’t real. but beautifully written. there are more letters of separation here: https://www.artangel.org.uk/inside/read-letters-of-separation/
“I have wanted very much to die, and if it weren’t for you, I might have taken matters into my own hands. But we are tethered together for now. And for now, you are keeping me alive. My body is your prison and your shelter from the world. Without it, you will not survive. Without you, I would have no reason to.”
– ‘Letter to my Unborn Daughter’, Tahmima Anam