Like An Animal

Behind the smooth texture
Of my eyes, way inside me,
A part of me has died:
I move my bloody fingernails
Across it, hard as a blackboard,
Run my fingers along it,
The chalk white scars
That say I AM SCARED,
Scared of what might become
Of me, the real me,
Behind these prison walls.

by Jimmy Santiago Baca

Comments (5)

This poem is short, but this is enough to convey the powerful mesage here told. The choice of words is suitable for the quickness of the thought, a thought of pain an future anxiety. You have done well here. Luis Estable
Lovely write great poem
A mental prison is perhaps the worst kind to fear. The hardest to escape. With words such as these, one attempts to tunnel out.
Wow! This is intense! I've never been in a prison, but this seems very real. A well-written piece.
Only one that has walked in the shoes of a prisoner can identify with his or her poetry with the feeling of how it is behind the walls of a prison and i'm one of them, this is too real to deny or forget about it.