You are so much more than a uniform.
You are battered books,
creases filled with sand.
The kind so fine
you can't shake it out.
You are midnight Skype sessions
where we rant about
exes and poetry
and you show me
on google maps
where you were stationed in Afghanistan
and where there used to be a village
which was home to a little girl
whose body was never found.
You are a whiskey fueled conversation
about jumping from airplanes
and how much you love writing
on the the night I first met you.
You remember..
when we shared the bed
with your best friend
who passed out around 2 a.m.
because he drinks so much bourbon
trying to forget the things he has seen.
He's only twenty years old.
Soldier,
you are more than a college drop out
waiting for his next deployment.
You are a pair of brown eyes
that squint when you get too drunk
and a closet filled with 87 button-up shirts,
which I think is ridiculous,
but you like because it makes you look classy.
You are a mind filled with
articles from scientific journals
pictures from 9gag
and a mental list of the girls you've charmed
(wait, you hate that word..)
into your bed
because you're making up for
experiences you fear you'll never have
if you come back next year in a body bag.
You are more than government property,
a tag on a uniform
or a rank, soldier.
If only you could see yourself
the way
I see you.
A different soldier than the one I usually write about, but just as special to me.