This poem reflects what we hear time and again from Correctional Officers across the country. The consistency of these sentiments—often expressed in even more severe terms—should prompt serious reflection on officers’ working conditions and the demands placed upon them. It is a stark signal that current efforts are falling short, and that something different—something more effective—is urgently needed.
The situation in many jails and prisons has become untenable. This is not a matter of isolated frustration, but a widespread and deeply rooted strain on the workforce.
Correctional staff are not asking for sympathy. They are asking for solutions—for meaningful relief and support that leads to real, tangible change in their daily working lives.
Yeah, real shock—no one wants my job.
Others joke—I’ve got job security for life.
I work among people shaped by histories
that would make your skin crawl.
I manage people so mentally ill
they shouldn’t be here at all.
I see what most people never will—
misery, violence, gore, death.
I’m handed human problems
with no real training to solve them.
I live in the crosshairs.
It’s not just shanks and body fluids anymore.
Now it’s invisible but lethal drugs, drones, phones.
The public sides with them.
Sometimes, my own supervisors do too.
That makes me the villain.
The rules keep changing.
I’m told to forget what I knew
and master what’s new—fast.
The pay?
Low enough that I need the overtime I hate.
After retirement, no pension to count on.
No healthcare to fall back on.
Sleep is stolen—
overtime, insomnia, nightmares.
Even in bed, I don’t rest.
And yeah, some nights—or days—I drink too much,
just to forget,
just to feel “okay.”
I’m running on fumes.
So is everyone else.
We snap at each other just to get through the shift.
No praise.
No “good job.”
No reminders that any of this matters.
Just the grind.
Call it what it is—
a negative environment.
So I learned to laugh at the dark.
A twisted humor to survive it.
Because without it—
I couldn’t walk back in
and do it all again tomorrow
Behind these words are real people carrying real burdens, crying out for help, day after day. Their experiences call not only for recognition, but for meaningful change—because the cost of inaction is too high, for them and for the system they serve.
