Most of the day in school I would spend in art as my teacher Mrs Crawford was the only one that seemed to understand me and get my ADHD. She made me feel equal.

Alone in a world of darkness and pain. The world there outside, I don't see the rain. Is the sun shining brightly? I really don't know. There's no place to turn and nowhere to go.

Icy fingers clawed the nape of the old man’s neck as swirling wind whipped up dust and debris into Jack’s tired weathered face.

I see the pain in your lost eyes, and see, all your life ends in cries.

My whispers every night never reached you it seems. Now I only see you in my vivid dreams.

Whether it's going up or down or just round and around I cannot figure it anymore.

Now in its 14th year, ‘Artists with Conviction’ is an exhibition of art and writing by people at the Risdon facilities as well as people on parole in Tasmania.

As I strive to read this paper, I am constantly bombarded with various forms of attempted conversation.

In the past, I laughed at tree huggers, sandalwood-scented hippy buggers. But all that hatred was ill-fated, now that I'm incarcerated.

Where once I held, a life so charmed, so clean. So pure. Not odd!

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