in the summer time the pole barns get hot, smelly, and miserable, becoming the world’s biggest Dutch ovens. Everything is either sticky or wet. I flushed the urinal and soaked my hand in the process. Despite the bes efforts of the porters, the place feels disease-ridden.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It is prison after all. I knew what I was getting into…
i no longer blame the injustice system, corrupt cops, the drug war, or that Michigan is like a penal colony of the us. those are all still true. but whenever I’m primarily blaming the ‘system’, I’m refusing to take full responsibility. So yeah, I acted like a shithead for some years. I dunno bout 8, but definitely some. I needed time out. And I was a grown man.
needed changes…
anyways, it gets so overheated you almost can’t wear a shirt or else you feel like you’re suffocating. so every ones topless and sprawled out in front of a fan. its pretty fucking gross. (I didn’t know bellybuttons could go out that far.)
I used to feel self-conscious about how I looked because my cubies would” joke ” that I looked like Roger from American Dad, so I’d suffer with a tee on.
Now, I actually look good without a shirt on. My chest juts out farther than my stomach. That’s the first time I can honestly say that. It’s easy to be body positive when your body actually looks good.
Just my luck, too–there arent any females around to appreciate my new physique. Its like a fucked up, felon bizarro world version of that Alanis Morrisette song.
Easy Trouble 