I’m waging battles,
Winning fights
Against my mind.
Little things that
Dragged me down
Are gently tucked and
Buried beneath
The soft loam of
Recovery. It’s fresh
and shallow, like a
Scab and you just
Love to pick around
The edges until it’s
Red and raw and
Ready to rip off my
Skin, it’s thin, I’m
Sensitive and
War has not hardened
Me enough to roll
With all the punches.
Expect me not to
Meet your Expectations
I am done trying,
Even though I’m
******* hardwired
To shove myself into



Their ill-fitting form.