Jail Tales: Becky's Poem
One of the most inspiring stories to come out of the Jail Tales project is that of Becky, a young woman from Swansea. While she was in prison she started writing and she's agreed to share one of her poems with us exclusively on the Ö÷²¥´óÐã Three blog.
Before you read her poem watch her story...
Here's the poem that Becky wrote while she was serving her second prison sentence.
We block out the past, and struggle through the present,
Hoping our future upon release will be at least pleasant.
We'll stay off drugs and get a job and believe life may be enjoyable,
Just to be refused from job to job and branded unemployable
But why? We've served our time, done our jail,
Just to be released by a system designed for us to fail.
So each job we are rejected, socially unaccepted,
So thoughts of drugs re-enter our brain and again we are infected.
So reaching in a pocket we pull out 30 pound,
That's a 20 stone of white and a ten bag of brown.
Now we're feeling happy, our troubles drift away,
But just one problem, we want more but can't afford to pay.
If we fall off track that's it, back into institutions,
That would mean losing our family, so we try prostitution.
But with not many customers by day, again we have to steal,
To buy the drugs to numb the pain that everyday we feel.
Guess what? Got caught, back in jail, it's a chain reaction,
Nobody stood up to offer help, nobody took action.
And no this is not passing the buck you only have yourself to blame,
But nobody tried to help us to deal with all the pain.
Maybe next time we'll think twice? So here we are again,
In Prisoner's Paradise.
But if you take our criminal records and strip us of our convictions,
You'll see girls underneath dealing with abuse and addictions.
And so we may be robbers and yes I am a thief,
But look hard enough and you'll see hearts of gold hidden underneath!!!
Before you read her poem watch her story...
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Here's the poem that Becky wrote while she was serving her second prison sentence.
We block out the past, and struggle through the present,
Hoping our future upon release will be at least pleasant.
We'll stay off drugs and get a job and believe life may be enjoyable,
Just to be refused from job to job and branded unemployable
But why? We've served our time, done our jail,
Just to be released by a system designed for us to fail.
So each job we are rejected, socially unaccepted,
So thoughts of drugs re-enter our brain and again we are infected.
So reaching in a pocket we pull out 30 pound,
That's a 20 stone of white and a ten bag of brown.
Now we're feeling happy, our troubles drift away,
But just one problem, we want more but can't afford to pay.
If we fall off track that's it, back into institutions,
That would mean losing our family, so we try prostitution.
But with not many customers by day, again we have to steal,
To buy the drugs to numb the pain that everyday we feel.
Guess what? Got caught, back in jail, it's a chain reaction,
Nobody stood up to offer help, nobody took action.
And no this is not passing the buck you only have yourself to blame,
But nobody tried to help us to deal with all the pain.
Maybe next time we'll think twice? So here we are again,
In Prisoner's Paradise.
But if you take our criminal records and strip us of our convictions,
You'll see girls underneath dealing with abuse and addictions.
And so we may be robbers and yes I am a thief,
But look hard enough and you'll see hearts of gold hidden underneath!!!
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