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.