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Ptsd Story

Updated on December 29, 2014
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Maurice Bishop, a powerful, spoken word Poet currently serving in the United States Army. Published Author & Motivational Speaker.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

The things I do as a man I can’t understand.

Can’t stay calm with sweaty palms and a knife in hand.

Flashback to Baghdad the streets covered in sand.

Cautiously walking through Iraqi land till I heard shots blam.

So I ran to the trailer as fast as I can.

Just to see a bloody body jerkin near the night stand.

I ran to the body to what seems severe.

Till I lift the blankets off and the body disappeared.

I woke up and reality flash with my heart beating fast.

Fatigue and out of gas.

I’m home on the couch with the Henny filled glass.

The only thing on the floor is ketchup and few trash.

That’s why I go weeks with no sleep because my nightmares meets me there.

I rather smoke and write, drink day and night, then sleep in fear.

No appetite, no passion for life because my life I hated.

I’m constantly isolated because crowds of people make me aggravated.

Questioning how I feel and if I ever killed leaves me agitated.

So I tell them in cursing I’m happy and bless but my actions are fabricated.

I’m fascinated with danger.

Looking for fights to release my anger.

After that smoke weed with strangers.

Then come home to my coat closet and see a baby clothes hung on my hanger.

It’s not real, I’m hallucinating again.

Time to pick up a pad and a pen.

Writing by trying to block the baby cries in my head, and I drink again.

It’s the only way to make it end.

Ashamed of myself so I isolated myself from family and friends.

I feel like death wants to feast on my life, I’m like Daniel in the lion’s den.

My nightmares and hallucinations repeat itself in my head.

Like one hour this man alive and the next hour he’s dead.

One night making love to a woman between the sheets.

Same night I’m choking the same woman while I’m in a deep sleep.

Next day I’m full of energy, drinking wine and Hennessey.

Then black out and wake up to a dead baby next to me.

Logically you might call me crazy but don’t know what affected me.

Judgment from the outside world only vexes me.

That’s why I kept this secret inside.

There may be a reason I’m alive but at times I wished I already died.

Here’s why! The man in my dreams was the newest soldier in my unit.

I became crudest to him because I thought he was stupid.

Harassed him all the time even other soldiers included.

In trouble for stupid things but never knew in his mind he was about to lose it.

A month later he shot himself with his M-16.

What started out as a joke became a bigger scene.

I wanted to cry and wanted to scream.

But I was paralyzed with guilt, hoping this reality a bad dream,

But it wasn’t and I’ve been living with these open wounds for years.

Tried coping with this guilt by drowning my liver with liquor and beer.

The baby in my dreams was my 1 year old son.

I remember his laughter and cries in my eardrum.

While I was deployed overseas my son died in the state.

I didn’t know he even died till I redeployed back in the state.

I know me and my baby mama relationship wasn’t great.

But 10 months pass and I just find out my son’s fate.

I balled my fist because I became more than pist.

She could of contact me but didn’t so now my son funeral missed.

It tears me apart because my son had a hole in his heart.

I have a hole in mines because my son was the missing part.

I come to the conclusion I can’t change myself.

So I’m going to bury fear and pride to the ground and ask for help.

PTSD - Poetic Music Track!

Kindle Edition Coming Soon!

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