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.
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.
jimmy is an albuquerque, new mexico resident as i am. i've met him, read him, and know something of his story. the prison walls in this poem are probably literal—that's part of his story—as well, perhaps, as figurative. i don't have anything much to parallel his prison experience, and yet this poem strikes me with blunt force. i think again that baca is a natural poet—poetry just seems to flow right from him. -gk
The chalk white scars That say I AM SCARED, Scared of what might become Of me, the real me, superb write superb 10++++++++++++++++
WOW. A greatest philosophical poem about the self. The metaphors are shouting and exploding. Fantastic short poem but powerful loaded and excellently worded. First of all my well meant CONGRATULATIONS on being chosen as Modern Poem Of The Day, Hurray! Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem sheer brilliant poetry from your exploding inside. Submitted in 2003, My highest compliments, Jimmy Sir. GBU in Abundance, Amen
Our real self is caged inside our mind. Nice poem indeed. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this 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.