Tuesday, July 23, 2013

A poem from Prison

by Anthony Murphy HMP Ltttlehey 

To tell the truth in prison, 
for many seems so hard 
Why do people feel the need to put on this facade? 
Everyone's a hard man, a gangster or a thug 
Has every watch, drives every car, deals every kind of drug 
Everybody knows him, he's famous in the ends 
Never short of money, there's thousands in his spends 
His prop boxes are bulging, with all the latest things
He swaggers round talking in slang and shouting round the wings 
He makes out that he's running things, that he's the one on top 
But one day he gets found out, and all that swagger stops 
Prison is a small world, but changing all the time 
And soon somebody comes along that knows him and his crime 
Now the truth is out there and he has to avoid 
All the ones he's lied to, threatened or annoyed 
This gives him some problems, he can't go off the wing 
No work or outside exercise, no access to the gym 
They know he's not a hard man, a gangster or a thug 
His watch is Worth a fiver, never even seen a drug 
He has nothing to bargain with, and nothing left to swap 
His prop box is a Ghost Town, nothing special to his name 
He didn't have to tell these lies, there's no one else to blame 
They create these false personas, but it never gets them far
Why can't they not just show themselves for who they really are.