Writing

I can't write, I can't type,

My internals R in a fight,

The light in my dots, is 2 bright,

N my stretched skin, is flared white.

I don't feel tops, to see youz,

But still want, to be with youz. 

You're fundenental, my writing crew,

I'm jus 2 twisted up, 2 write wiv uz.

U don't want to see the ooze,

From my wounds, seepin thru the gooze, 

Or numeriz cutsiz n bruise, 

All cluz 2 my need, 2 b soothed.

Or the darts in my eyes, 

As I try n fail 2 disguise. 

The pain n anguise inside, 

From a kneecap 2 my ego n pride.

So I sit alone, in my own zone, 

Ignoring constant beeps, on my phone. 

Soon my home won't be my own,

I'm vanished, alone, time wasted in stone.

© 2026 - All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid

Chuffed At Court

I went to court today,

I was taken by surprise,

The judge was smoking a spliff,

I couldn't believe my eyes!

He gave my brief a blowback,

They started talking shit.

The witness was on acid,

And freaking on a bad trip.

The prosecution asked,

Is this some kind of joke?

If it is then fuck you all,

As he got out his stash of coke.

The usher got excited,

and fell upon his back.

Lying there with a 2 ml works,

In his arm, having a hit of smack.

I asked about my punishment,

The judge couldn't give a damn.

He said "Go spend your money wisely boy",

And buy yourself a gram.

© 2002 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

An old poem I had totally forgot about from an old website I used to have with poems from people in Prison that used to send them out to me to publish along with my own work. Was a total surprise to find this stash of old writing!