Jail By Christina M Tedesco

Jail

Have you ever been inside a jail?

Mos have not-but I have.

I live inside one.

My jail comes with me where ever I go.

I am sentenced, not for nine or ten years, but for life.

For a crime I didn’t commit or even know about.

My jail has bars, yes and books too.

Have you ever tried to put your arm through a bar and feel the coldness of

it going down your back like a train going down a track, out of control?

I try to pull my arm back it is stuck.

So I live between two worlds, living with a great fear.

But the thing I am most afraid of is the guard that stands outside my cell.

He doesn’t hold an M-80 but soething much worse; it is a red, ball point pen

that replaces the gun in his holster.

When it is pointed and shot at me I do not bleed just red blood but all the

colors of my soul.

So how do I regin my color?

I pick up a book,thinking it will calm me down.

I open to the first page.

But all I see is letters,

letters that make up words,

words that make up sentences,

Sentences that up the story.

I do not see the story, or the paragraphs, or the sentences.

Not evern the words.

All I see are letters.

I live in this jail,isolated from the world because of these letters.

My jail has a name it is dyslexia.

Once again I ask you:

Have you ever been inside a jail.