Mixed Fruits

 By Gerald Hoye

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When I eat the fruits of a humble man;

Like David, fearless before Giants I’ll stand.

 

Bananas to make my knees strong.

When fighting the evil that would destroy my home.

 

Apples to see all those enslaved.

For speaking truth to the why, they found early graves.

 

Oranges to give endurance so I will last.

Fighting darkness, I need to be strong. I need to be fast.

 

Pears for the end of battles as victory is claimed.

Lifting the heads of those freed from pain.

 

Pineapples for the sweeter taste on the lips of those left behind.

Acknowledging their freedoms are secure and never redefined.

 

Grapes to shadow how kings celebrate the end of war.

Coupled with the love of home and family waiting at my door.

 

Immersed in love and the grace of God, returning to my roots.

Stronger than ever, now I’ve learned to eat mixed fruits.

 

About the Author

Gerald Hoye is a Mississippi Delta born black man who you’ll grow to love, even if you’re wondering why he shared that he’s black. He would say it’s important because of where he is from. He would also say it’s how he honors all those killed while fighting for the freedoms he has today, e.g., going to the same school as people who are white. Gerald also wants to do all he can to shed light on incarcerated people. How hopes people would see that many, while they are inmates, are not a lost cause. Simply, they are more like lost in the system, waiting for a second chance at life. And not all people who are incarcerated have left their values at the gate. Gerald wishes to touch your hearts and hopes you see the humility in his work.

WHY!

 By Gerald Hoye 

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Is this what those enslaved felt long before me?

Is prison a reflection of when they weren’t free?

 

Saying “yes sir” to men less than half my age.

Balancing words that bruise egos that are easily enraged.

 

Often scorn for my truths as I share each day.

The articulation of intellectual property others fear to say.

 

Dare I say, why you hate me; or think what’s the use?

When my mind is restless of events of your abuse.

 

What more could you want after a guilty plea?

Sentenced 360 months, and you’re gone before I’m free.

 

How much of my blood would satisfy?

Cat got your tongue; what, no smart-ass reply?

 

I see, you can’t be you among those with ears.

Strange to see the change, when you’re reckless with your peers.

 

Saying this yard is soft, yet you never pick a fight.

Too good for bloody hands, now how is that right?

 

I am already in prison, not an animal for you to cage.

Check this, I forgive you, let’s turn the page.

 

Forgiveness is part of my Christian faith.

FYI, you can be saved, it’s not too late.

 

Give up on being the Goliath, spreading fear and standing tall.

I would be remiss not to say, it was a little stone that made the Giant fall.

 

 

About the Author

Gerald Hoye is a Mississippi Delta born black man who you’ll grow to love, even if you’re wondering why he shared that he’s black. He would say it’s important because of where he is from. He would also say it’s how he honors all those killed while fighting for the freedoms he has today, e.g., going to the same school as people who are white. Gerald also wants to do all he can to shed light on incarcerated people. How hopes people would see that many, while they are inmates, are not a lost cause. Simply, they are more like lost in the system, waiting for a second chance at life. And not all people who are incarcerated have left their values at the gate. Gerald wishes to touch your hearts and hopes you see the humility in his work.

Why I'm Writing

By Scott Jackson

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I’m writing because I have no legacy, yet I want one.

I’m writing because for many years I was a ghost in the system.

I’m writing because of the loss that drives me. The loss of the child I once was, and the loss of those who raised me. 

I’m writing to be the version of me that ten or twenty years ago would never have believed was possible. Maybe even five years or even just last year. 

I’m writing to better myself. I don’t want to be known by just a number, or a cashier, or a grunt in a pointless job. I want to be better.

I’m writing to bring life to the creations that are crawling in my mind.

I’m writing to escape, to escape all the bull going on due to the injustice in our government.

I’m writing to fight the writer’s block that is around every corner I turn.

I’m writing to find something inside of me.

I’m writing to help, to help myself to go through feelings I kept bottled up inside. To show others who also keep feelings inside that they don’t have to be kept secret.

I’m writing to hope for a better world. One not filled with hate, where we don’t have to worry about debt everywhere, where we can all just take a breath and look at this whole world we are standing on around us.

I’m writing to learn, to learn from my own mistakes, to help others who face and go through those same mistakes.

I’m writing to make sense of my mind going a million ways at a time.

I’m writing to reach out until we reach the circle’s end.

I’m writing to remember, because I know that when the time comes all my memories and thoughts will be like “dust in the wind.”

I’m writing to share my history, my pain, my emotions, my life, my opinion.

I’m writing to show you what is possible even when impossible.

 

About the Author 

Scott Jackson is a native of Central Illinois where he lives with his girlfriend and four cats. He loves video games, musicals, comic books, 80s and 90s nostalgia, Doctor Who, and overall, a good story to enjoy. After finally reaching his limits with retail work, he decided to re-invent himself by going back to school to pursue his dream of becoming a writer and teacher. In his spare time, he picks up extra roles in local films, helps out with a local community theatre, and continues to work on his first novels. Currently, he is the Vice President of Scholarship for ICC's honor society Phi Theta Kappa. He is told this would be his last year at ICC and is due to graduate in December 2025.

Skin Shells

By Sophia Larimore

Student Writing Awards, second place, poetry category

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Cells regenerate every 7 years 

Every 7 years you gain a new body 

So let me shed my skin cells and once again become soft to the touch 

Shiny, new, and pure 

Cells regenerate every 7 years 

So wrap your arms around my body without fear of my scar spines and comfort me while I weep over my old, dead skin 

Let me gain this new body that no longer is too ragged to embrace others and let them Embrace me 

Cells regenerate every 7 years 

So let my love hold me close without fear of being impaled 

Or without fear of penetrating and cracking 

Hardened skin, now soft enough to trust others, would fall, be caught, and not break their bones 

Cells regenerate every 7 years 

After those years pass let me look at my breasts without shivering at the sight of Daggers sharp enough to cut through skin 

Let me look at my ass without vomiting up the 

Acid in my guts, melting through my wooden floor 

Instead, let my breasts be tender and soft 

Let them be something to celebrate and make a toast to with a White Russian in hand Let my ass be a pillow for my tired eyes to rest upon 

And instead of creating acid, stir up my guts to create a sweet cream 

A new body is made every 7 years 

So let my body forget the touch of those hands that molded my body 

Cayden, Liam, somehow another Caden, and Charlie 

 

 

About the Author 

Sophia Larimore is a journalism major at Illinois Central College who writes about anything that sticks in their brain. From love and queerness to feelings of despair and trauma, Sophia covers everything. When they're not writing, they're busy tending to their plants or playing video games. They hope to one day publish both a horror story and a collection of poetry, drawing inspiration from creators like Andrew Joseph White, Andrea Gibson, Will Wood, and Dazey and the Scouts.

Your Receipt

By Sophia Larimore

-

 

About the Author 

Sophia Larimore is a journalism major at Illinois Central College who writes about anything that sticks in their brain. From love and queerness to feelings of despair and trauma, Sophia covers everything. When they're not writing, they're busy tending to their plants or playing video games. They hope to one day publish both a horror story and a collection of poetry, drawing inspiration from creators like Andrew Joseph White, Andrea Gibson, Will Wood, and Dazey and the Scouts.

Empire for Eight Hours

By Logan Lewis

For Andy Warhol

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I hope you have nothing going on today 

Andy is up to his thinking again 

From 8:46 PM to 2:42 AM the next day 

This is going to be a long evening and an even longer night 

Andy is up to his thinking again 

He surely has a lot of time on his hands 

This is going to be a longer day and an even longer night 

How long did you make it watching time go by?

He surely has a lot of time on his hands 

From 8:46 PM to 2:42 AM the next day 

How long did you make it watching time go by? 

I hope you have nothing going on today

 

 

About the Author

 
Logan Lewis is a student at Illinois Central College going for an associate’s degree. After ICC, he is planning on transferring to Illinois State University to get a degree in writing and is thinking about becoming a professor. Recently, he's been straying away from humorous writing to writing with more "heart on his sleeve" like feelings with serious and hopeful themes, along with the occasional humor. He wants to spend his life being silly, playing guitar, and writing songs, poems and stories. His heroes are God, his Parents, Mister Rogers, Andy Warhol. His biggest writing influences are: Harlan Ellison, Arthur Rimbaud, Doug Hopkins, Elliott Smith and Kurt Cobain. You can usually find him at Guitar Center, thrifting for cardigans or screaming songs by The Gin Blossoms in his car. #skipLogan

The Things I Think of Instead of Cleaning My Room

By Logan Lewis

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This is what it feels like to go to jail 

Chewing 5 gum to stimulate your senses 

World War World Records at 33 and a half rotations per minute 

Punctuation storyteller FableHaven cork coaster on death row 

This is what it’s like to get out of jail 

Off to the races, a rough start 

Back on the chain gang and out of words to write 

It was taken over by snakes 

That’s the way it didn’t have to go 

Taking a cheat day: even February gets a cheat day 

Who needs politics when we have rocket science? 

I hate snakes Jock, I hate them

 

 

About the Author 

Logan Lewis is a student at Illinois Central College going for an associate’s degree. After ICC, he is planning on transferring to Illinois State University to get a degree in writing and is thinking about becoming a professor. Recently, he's been straying away from humorous writing to writing with more "heart on his sleeve" like feelings with serious and hopeful themes, along with the occasional humor. He wants to spend his life being silly, playing guitar, and writing songs, poems and stories. His heroes are God, his Parents, Mister Rogers, Andy Warhol. His biggest writing influences are: Harlan Ellison, Arthur Rimbaud, Doug Hopkins, Elliott Smith and Kurt Cobain. You can usually find him at Guitar Center, thrifting for cardigans or screaming songs by The Gin Blossoms in his car. #skipLogan