you have the right to write, and not much else

in prison you don't know what it's like outside. in prison you don't get ice for your drink, or regular ball point pens. in prison you can be ticketed for getting a sunburn - it's destruction of state property because your ID no longer matches your skin tone. in prison you can do 17 days in lockdown for losing your ID. seventeen fucking days for a slip of plastic. in prison they can decide to lose your mail or your money order. in prison you can listen to how your daughter is acting out while she lives with her grandmother and you know that there's nothing you can do about it and the only reason she's acting out is because you're in prison and now you have to end the call because it's collect and your mother can't afford all those bills plus your kids. in prison you can get x-rays because you complain about your chest pains and find out you have three lumps and have to go in for surgery. in prison you miss holidays. in prison, rehab is a vacation. at least in rehab you can smoke cigarettes and have sex.

these are the things i know now. what do you want me to do with them?

the question "so what's it like outside?" is devastating, coming from the right person. Nikki can't be much older than me, and she misses her son who's six. Carol never wants to write or talk, because what good are we going to do her? Stephanie doesn't understand the reading. Darlene is breaking up with her wife. anything dealing with love makes her cry. Shanelle's husband drew a Smurfette on the letter he sent her - what does that mean? if he's the man, shouldn't he be the Smurf sending a letter to his Smurfette? Darlene is sick. she's been having a lot of court dates lately. so in the midst of trying to go home and breaking up with her long-time girlfriend, she finds three lumps and must go for surgery. she'll probably get "better" healthcare in jail than out. Nikki goes home this summer. so does Stephanie. Liz is only in for like 8 months. they wish they were all getting out the same day so they could go get pedicures together. Shanelle combs Darlene's hair before it's time to go to the hospital. Liz writes about how, in group, they talk about how to stay sober once they're out and she knows this is bullshit, doesn't know how she'll stay sober, so she'll blahblah and then if that doesn't work it's blahblahblah, she writes. it's actually a funny piece with smart sensibility.

i have yet to wash the jail stench, the stale feeling the reminds me of my great-grandmother's nursing home, off my hands. i never do it quickly enough once i get out. but at least i'm out. out for another week. i wish the hour i'm in could be the one they get out.

these are the things i know now. this is what i've learned.

and when we were analyzing a poem in class today, i was shocked that they were shocked you could get any kind of drug in prison. how can they not know the saying "there's more in than out"? how could they not know that, for a price, you can get anything, as long as you're willing to pay or fuck for it?

this is what i know now.