Resignation Letter (2:41) Laura Taylor

Dear controller of my days, I want to be you, earning the inalienable right to rule over the stooped women of waywardness. My desire is to have my polyester pants weighted down by the keys that secure each cell door. I wish to rule what's behind each one of them and have no clue to what key goes to what door. I want to laugh about that, with the captives, a dream of setting the tone at 6:00 AM for the offenders by refusing to answer simple questions, slamming doors, or glaring at them. My mood would make or break their day. I want your right. I'd feel enlivened having inmates clear a path for my presence without me uttering a word. Behind my booming voice, I would observe these same women keep lowered gazing while jerking, recoiling, and scurrying out of my way. Every day, I sit for many hours, but run to protect my power from the danger of a 90 pound, detoxing,  depressed female's fingernails. I want the constitutional right to look down on those that put themselves there. I want your innocence. I wish to sleep soundly after a cleansing thought of those people, getting their just dues and safer communities, want to slip into your smooth purified skin and know what it's like to have never done anything that bad in my life. I want to feel guiltless over how I treat them. My clean conscious entitling me to a queen throne, I'm going to play with questionable acts in my past, as I surely would be. I smirk and never question my motive, my character, or my spirit as you. I want your life. When I get promoted as I most assuredly will, I will thank the minorities, the addicts, the poor, and obviously the dumb as crump criminals. I be guaranteed stability via the misery, mistakes, circumstances, and sufferings of another. I wouldn't flinch while building my career on a graveyard. Surely, I see this place with its electrified fences. Its [inaudible] loaded assault rifles and revolving door as a necessity. I long to be you. If I were you walking past me, I feel so much better about my life. Do a quick comparison, clear my throat and look for someone to speak to that's just behind me. I crave thinking of vacation time while whistling, just like you. If I were you, I'd ignore me. As a matter of fact, I want to do over. My name is Laura Taylor. I'm a life worthy of progress. These commentaries are recorded by Noelle Hanrahan of Prison Radio.