Jimmy Santiago Baca

(2 January 1952 / Santa Fe, New Mexico)

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.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • Marie Valdez (4/26/2009 11:05:00 PM)

    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. (Report) Reply

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