Feel that way / All apologies

Following the night I went crazy, about a year ago, I’d had my share of overnight stays in the city jail. The last time, though, I left my mark, maybe because I knew I wouldn’t be going back. Maybe, once I finally had my clothes returned to me, and I didn’t have to walk around in the suicide dress, I felt somewhat benevolent. I pulled a wire out of my bra, and started scratching furiously into the cell door–the only area of wood in the room where I could also watch for being watched. By the time the big guy in blue came to collect me for the judge, I had finished my little piece, to melt in seamlessly with gang names, insults to persons unknown to me, and poetry about the hopelessness of it all.

“All you need is love.”

It was poorly scratched, ugly and quiet, but I’d run out of time to improve it. It had been a long-ass morning and a longer night. Back to the world where people were allowed shoelaces, soon. I wondered if I’d see my man, sitting precariously in the courtroom, watching the dance between lawyers and judge. He was there.