by Melissa Martin
11/20/2011 / Teen Issues
I am a prisoner of my fists.
I peer out through the bars of my fingers.
I beat up myself. I beat up others.
I punch and punch and punch.
The cold steel hits me in the face
whenever I try to step out.
I am the warden
and I sentence myself to isolation.
I deny my own parole
because of seething self-hatred.
Stuck in the middle of immovable stone
I search for a chisel of hope.
Melissa writes about the God and human connection and condition.
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