As I stare listlessly into the mirror, the fuzzy image that gazes back at me is someone I barely recognize. But I do. They say prison causes profound changes in a man, and the most extraordinary stem from the most incredible circumstances. That man in the mirror has undergone an unimaginable plethora of alterations because he is the absolute worst thing one can be in prison: an innocent man.
I detect the bitterness in his hazel eyes, the constant worry that wrinkles his forehead, the anxiety that sets his jaw like cement and the frustration that has lightened his hair from brown to salty beige. But still, occasionally, I notice the soft smile of that gracious man I used to know, the kindness in his eyes and the youthful, even naive, wonder underlying his visage.
I witness as he struggles for control over his flagging emotions; his quiet humbleness as he is degraded 由 those who believe that, 由 mere coincidence of fallaciously bestowed power, they are superior in some way; the way he continues to strive for good, despite the oppression surrounding him; how he never puts himself before others; and he helps whoever he can. The man in the mirror is tired of fighting but he cannot stop, he was never taught how to give up. But like Atlas, his back groans under the weight on his shoulders.
I have observed the battles passing through his head as he combats the onslaught of vengeful thoughts for those who lied and cheated to set him up, refusing to hate them, regardless of their perfidious aspirations. The pain he feels for his loved ones, who he is powerless to protect from these people, seems to consume him with the voraciousness of a lion on the third 日 of an unfruitful hunt. He is tortured 由 his inability to provide the warmth and joy that he once gave to his children, and what they (and he) are missing each day. I rarely glimpse hope in his eyes anymore.
I sometimes wonder if he will make it. He seems to know there is little chance for retribution in a society that persecutes based on loose insinuation, vicious accusation and thoughtless supposition, but refuses to accept it. He seems to linger in reminiscence of a 日 long gone, a 日 in which greed and narcissism did not pervade everything, a 日 in which distorted imaginations were not permitted to pervert wholesome interchanges with delusional exaggerations. He seems to stick to his beliefs as if they are the only branches within his grasp during a devastating flood of irrationality. It is like watching a bridge crumble, one speck at a time, over a century; each bit takes an eternity to weaken the structure, but none can be replaced once it has fallen to be swept away 由 the current.
However, I still think he will overcome and persevere, because I have never seen his determination waver. And, as all of us in this situation know, prison mirrors are not very clear.
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I detect the bitterness in his hazel eyes, the constant worry that wrinkles his forehead, the anxiety that sets his jaw like cement and the frustration that has lightened his hair from brown to salty beige. But still, occasionally, I notice the soft smile of that gracious man I used to know, the kindness in his eyes and the youthful, even naive, wonder underlying his visage.
I witness as he struggles for control over his flagging emotions; his quiet humbleness as he is degraded 由 those who believe that, 由 mere coincidence of fallaciously bestowed power, they are superior in some way; the way he continues to strive for good, despite the oppression surrounding him; how he never puts himself before others; and he helps whoever he can. The man in the mirror is tired of fighting but he cannot stop, he was never taught how to give up. But like Atlas, his back groans under the weight on his shoulders.
I have observed the battles passing through his head as he combats the onslaught of vengeful thoughts for those who lied and cheated to set him up, refusing to hate them, regardless of their perfidious aspirations. The pain he feels for his loved ones, who he is powerless to protect from these people, seems to consume him with the voraciousness of a lion on the third 日 of an unfruitful hunt. He is tortured 由 his inability to provide the warmth and joy that he once gave to his children, and what they (and he) are missing each day. I rarely glimpse hope in his eyes anymore.
I sometimes wonder if he will make it. He seems to know there is little chance for retribution in a society that persecutes based on loose insinuation, vicious accusation and thoughtless supposition, but refuses to accept it. He seems to linger in reminiscence of a 日 long gone, a 日 in which greed and narcissism did not pervade everything, a 日 in which distorted imaginations were not permitted to pervert wholesome interchanges with delusional exaggerations. He seems to stick to his beliefs as if they are the only branches within his grasp during a devastating flood of irrationality. It is like watching a bridge crumble, one speck at a time, over a century; each bit takes an eternity to weaken the structure, but none can be replaced once it has fallen to be swept away 由 the current.
However, I still think he will overcome and persevere, because I have never seen his determination waver. And, as all of us in this situation know, prison mirrors are not very clear.
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The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71. Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of 名人 turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch. The gravesite was piled high with flours. Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded. Doughboy rose quickly in 显示 business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times he still was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions. Doughboy is survived 由 his wife Play Dough, two children, John Dough and Jane Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived 由 his elderly father, Pop Tart.
Is it possible to fall in 爱情 with someone you’ve never met
Your only knowledge stemming from information you’ve seen 或者 read
Before I knew of his existence I would have stated no
Yet the first time I saw him my 心 begged to never let go
It isn’t rational
或者 logical
Though 爱情 rarely is
I can’t make my 心 stop wishing that I held his
And I know it's stupid and silly to believe
In some kind of fairy tale
The perfect prince for me
But every time I see that smile
I can’t help but feel
That one 日 we could share
A 爱情 that is real
Your only knowledge stemming from information you’ve seen 或者 read
Before I knew of his existence I would have stated no
Yet the first time I saw him my 心 begged to never let go
It isn’t rational
或者 logical
Though 爱情 rarely is
I can’t make my 心 stop wishing that I held his
And I know it's stupid and silly to believe
In some kind of fairy tale
The perfect prince for me
But every time I see that smile
I can’t help but feel
That one 日 we could share
A 爱情 that is real
I breathed in and out slowly. This was horrid. Running. I spat at the word. I despised running.
Joseph jogged up to me. "You okay Kristen?"
"Yeah, just give me a minute."
"Hah! 你 always end up like this. Maybe 你 should quit track?"
"You know I can't! If I do, then I have to do Trigonometry. Ugh. That's worse."
"Right..."
I stood up and we walked in silence. His lithe step did not match mine. I had a clumsy, trip over step. I needed somebody to teach me how to walk right.
"Oof." I had tripped, and landed on my side. How? I have no idea. Normal people land on their face 或者 back. Not me!
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Joseph jogged up to me. "You okay Kristen?"
"Yeah, just give me a minute."
"Hah! 你 always end up like this. Maybe 你 should quit track?"
"You know I can't! If I do, then I have to do Trigonometry. Ugh. That's worse."
"Right..."
I stood up and we walked in silence. His lithe step did not match mine. I had a clumsy, trip over step. I needed somebody to teach me how to walk right.
"Oof." I had tripped, and landed on my side. How? I have no idea. Normal people land on their face 或者 back. Not me!
Please e-mail me 或者 comment. Tell me if 你 like this segment 或者 not, if I get enought votes, I will continue my writing.
i was a normal 18 年 old colledge student until that night that horid night the night that all saftyein my life died it was a cold winters night and me and my friend trent were going to stay the night at the most haunted hospital in the world ( 更多 like most haunted place of death and despair)waverly hlls sanitoryoum. "come on tristen were going to be laughing stocks of the city if we dont go" "trent." i 说 " i dont think we should go" " are u chicening out." he 说 " no" i snapped " but its not right" i argued to him "its these millions of death beads and u have famly that died there and so do i" " he looked mad at me mentioning his uncle who died there but i had to make him stop. "no" he 说 " we are going." to hell i thought if only i new