Every day, thereís hundreds of experiences. A few make front pages. Iím told warís PTSD comes in many sizes and knows no limits.
Nobody Told Me
I’m supposed to grieve in stages
A bit presumptuous, eh?
Just how is this insight acquired?
If they’d outlined the steps
Both of my bereaved deployments
Might not have ripped heart and spirit
Into so many scattered pieces
I could have asked friends
Weep with me?
I wouldn’t have excluded them
These many months of loneliness
Maybe I wouldn’t have accepted
This fragile courage
To double check my mags
Make sure the chamber’s loaded
Step cautiously and nudge the child’s severed arm
Closer to her body
Wipe my eyes clear
Take another step forward
Can’t help wondering
When and how was I supposed to get it
This euphoria of numbness some call it
This make-as-you-go survival kit
Nobody told me
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|Reviewed by Budd Nelson
We each have to find our own way unfortunately, lots of intermixed emotions as we all have during this.
|Reviewed by Jerry Bolton
|Aw, although there are myriad of pamphlets, books, lectures, ad nausem, there is no correct way to deal with this problem. It is an individual thing, and for the most part the individual has to come to terms with it. Yes, there is help, but sometimes help gets in the way.|
|Reviewed by pat medlin
|no one could...
ptsd fills each vessel with a myriad of illusive demons plugs the hole and shakes. you've managed to create so many emotions with this moving piece.