Beauty

I find that the more ugliness I am surrounded by, the more attentive I am to beauty. I am torn. I am (payching) out to avoid transferring to another compound. I did this because of a girlfriend, but also because change is near. This place is a wasteland but at least it is a known wasteland. Even hell becomes predictable over time and there is a comfort in that. Just knowing what is coming next can be soothing. As the sergeant cuffs me and takes me outside to begin the long walk to the cold psych cell, I am transfixed by the moon, beautiful sky, and clear night. It seems terribly ironic that same sky covers my family tucked into their warm beds in upper class homes, no knowledge of a place like this. I make a wish on a star, contemplate how far I have fallen, and hope my cell has a window.

-Michelle