In the quiet of my heart, I confess, a burden of guilt, a silent distress.

Somebody’s Daughter Theatre Company (SDTC) began running art workshops with women at Fairlea Women’s Prison over forty years ago.

One cold and windy night, I laid upon my gaol bed, and as I closed my eyes, I heard a voice that said: “Please don’t be afraid, I wish to speak with you, maybe you will listen, to my words that are true.”

No one can see the shame and guilt, trapped behind these eyes. As I sit here in a prison cell, all due to a pack of lies.

Clean me of this damaged life and make it right. And I swear I will do whatever it takes to be a better man. I swear it.

My partner and I are both currently locked up down here in Tasmania. Your newspaper has been a huge hit in both the women's and the men's prisons, so I thought I'd send you something from both of us.

When in jail some don’t want to go home, it’s true. Hard to believe, so I will find out more for you. Are the dudes for real, or a screw loose in the head. They would rather stay in jail, than going home instead.

The voice is beautiful; my lungs fill with a relieved gasp. I expected a prison sentence. A feeling of chest tightening, breath weak, metal and voices. A life of strip searches and beatings.

The woman of my dreams; she isn’t there. The woman of my dreams; she doesn’t care. The woman of my dreams; she isn’t real. The woman of my dreams knows not how I feel.

Behind cement walls and razor wire, I can see a tall tree – swaying in the breeze it reminds me, the day I’ll be free. Then in come the birds from out of that tree, I watch these birds with envy and I wish it was me.