My husband sits for days on end,
Staring through his vacant friend.
My tearful words fall alone,
His mind resides in combat zone.

A man replaced by shell so cold,
Numbed by scars of war untold.
Violent dreams he lives each night,
Lashing out at all in sight.

He returns to war inside his head,
Trauma stained by all the bloodshed.
A trigger pulled, his mind released,
Begging for all thoughts to cease.

His scars remain, but can't be seen,
Buried deep inside his dreams.
I wish that I, could set him free,
From the damaging effects of PTSD.

I pray for the day he's finally home,
So the trauma of war can leave us alone.

By Darren Wall

sometimes being a woman just makes me feel angry
I often wonder how many men have had to block someone’s number or profile. Or
had to change their own number to be able to breathe easily anytime their phone goes off?  
I wonder if all the men who just mean well, meant they mean well when they get what they want

i have hated physical touch
since the age of seven
when the trajectory of my life
would change forever

vulnerable
soft
physical touch

would put a feeling in my stomach
that was pure nausea
the vulnerability aspect
would cause a panic within me

until you

i crave your touch
i crave your hands rubbing my back
i crave your heart beating to the same rhythm of mine
i crave your warm South African tan on my body

i have not felt so safe with someone

until you

thank you

if i am being honest
i did not think
i was capable of feeling loss
from a lover

i always left
before they could
even think of leaving

but you left

if i am being honest
i did not realize
i felt this way at first
about you

it was not until
i was ordering mcnuggets
that you always ordered

it was not until
i realized i started falling
asleep by hugging myself

it was not until
i realized it has been weeks of silence
yet i wake every morning waiting for a text

it was not until
i realized the best parts of my day
are what i want to tell you all about

it was not until
i realized i was craving
your soft gentle touch on my skin

it was not until
the nightmares would come and i would wake in panic
wanting you to hold me

i am sorry
i miss you

Four years elapsed,
Since the world collapsed,
And I still can’t delete it,
Delete it from my head.

The concrete impaction,
One solitary action,
From able to chained,
Chained to his deathbed.

And I’m disturbed by the memories,
Sad for the suffering–

                For his suffering,
                For their suffering,
                For the collective rippling of suffering…

Tragedy inspires, I’m told,
But its message is lost upon me,
Blurred in darkness,
A stop-motion picture,
Haunting me, frame by frame.

Homing in on this harrowing loss,
I find my focus will never sharpen,
Just like he will never come back,
And so, I’m left fixating on that which
I can neither fully remember nor fail to forget.

since i was 7 years old
i have created
so many parts of
myself to survive
to keep myself safe

i am like a chameleon
thrown into new
places and i will
change my spots
to figure everyone out

but maybe now

i am discovering
who Erin really is
before the darkness
crept upon her
and tried swallowing her whole

to be quite frank
i am proud of her
i like her
she is soft
she is resilient
she is me

the nightmares keep
me up at night
almost every night
in March

i get to relive
the trauma
over and over
that month

i awake feeling
my chest tight
stomach turning
counterclockwise

my mind focused
on that first night
why it all happened
what did i do wrong

i was just a child
i remind myself
as i *****

i hope one day
i like March again
like i did
when i was 6 years old

my mother thinks
i will not forgive her
for everything
that has happened

she is my mother
she did not know
how could she of?

the voice in my head
screams at her

how could of
let me into that house?
how could you of
knowing what you knew before?

i was just a child
i lost everything that day

as much as i want
to forgive her

i do not know if i ever will