I’m sorry
I’m sorry
I’m sorry

She almost said

Let me introduce myself
I'm Robert K. Wesson,
Sgt. Retired
I like to say the K was for killer,
But, in fact it was for Knowlton
I have no idea why,
Nobody in our family named that, as far as I know.
Anyway, that's out of the way.
35 years served. Can't give away anymore information than that, it's a national secret. I can say, I can cook a mean chipped beef for 1100 men though.

I served in WWII, lost a lot of friends. I'm 97 years young now, as they like to say. I don't, I gave up counting years ago when I lost my wife, but, folks round here like to put on a show every year I get closer to 100. They wheel a cake into me, have me blow out the candles and then I head down stairs to the commissary for a beer. A light beer mind you, but, still a beer. Anything harder messes with my meds.
Personally, I think they give me the beer to shut me up, puts me to sleep in no time. I'm on pills for blood pressure, diabetes, headaches, one to make me ***, one to make me ****. Won't get into those now, rather unsavory things to chat about.

As I said, I served in the big one, came back relatively unscathed. No physical issues that I know of, but, mentally, I saw things no one should. Things that stay with you for ever. I wasn't front line per se, but, I can't tell you what I did, it's a national secret. I can say though, 100 loaves of bread, I can do that....no trouble at all.
Around here, I'm Grampa Bob, or Gramps, depending on who is working. Not many from my generation here now. Oh, here? I'm at a military home outside of Kingston. Some days, it's great, others, I wished I was gone years back. I wish I was gone in the war sometimes, but, then I would never have met my wife and had the fantastic life I did have. No kids, but, we made do.
Met her once I came home. But, that's another story. Wished I'd gone first though, tough watching her pass, cowardly to say, but, it was rough. I came in here after that. Was having trouble sleeping, concentrating, and generally couldn't take care of myself.
Seems strange a man who could do what I could, I can't tell you though, National Secret and all.  But I could field strip my weapon in the dark in a windstorm, and make stew for 1100 men no sweat.
Well, I came here, before I burned out the house. The local fire department got tired of coming out I guess, made a few calls, and here I be. Sold the house, made enough to do ok here, what with my pension and all too.
I'm not one for reading too much, eyes aren't the best anymore, and my hands, well the arthritis flares up and I can barely move some days. There's a computer in the common area we can use, but, I know all I need to know, and some things I wished I didn't.
Never got used to television, especially after it switched to colour. I didn't get the jokes, and the cop shows? I had the murderer figured out in the first ten minutes, why couldn't they figure it out?
Back to here. I'm an early riser, always was. Get up, shuffle to the sink to do my teeth before they come in and give me the whole whang dang doodle wash and wax to get me ready to face the day.
I used to go to the crafts classes here. They were ok, but, a man only need so many fake leather wallets with horses on them. After all, I've nobody to really give one to. If you want one, let me know, I've lots. Did a few of the Christmas trees in ceramics, but, after a while, I lost interest. The wife loved having the trees around, but, without her, it's not the same. Made about 7 or 8, let the nurses have those.
The nurses, great kids. Not the same as the ones we had in the war. Those....well, those were nurses. They could do anything needed, field strip a rifle, put in an IV under fire, drive a jeep, all without getting those starched white uni's ***** or blood stained. And...without losing their caps. Nurses today? good kids, but, not as tough in my book. Things have changed a lot, no uniforms like the old days, pretty casual, and 5 nurses to do what one would do in one quick visit. Now, 5 nurses, 2 hours to do what?
Anyways, I hear one coming now, so I best go. I know it's not my birthday, and VE day was the other day, so, must be tests again for something. I'll be here if you need a wallet remember, lots to go around. Hope to talk soon,
Just ask for Gramps, they'll get you here.

You think I can
be silenced
and I almost find
that funny.

Wind howling in my ears,
Sand slicing, biting, through my skin,
The faces plaguing my dreams of fear.
Their mouths all in a maniacal grin.

Pain flashing; arm burning;
Tumbling through the air.
An arm falling in my lap,
It's not mine but his.

My friend.
My driver.
The back I promised to watch.
The family man I know him to be.

No dont look at me that way!
Stop... please...
It's not my fault I survived.
It's not my fault you died.

No dont leave... please...
You're all I have left,
You're my last memory of him.
Stay... please...

The cracking of barrels,
Whizzing of bullets,
I'm sorry I have to go.
My other brothers need me.

You're eyes are already dead,
You're blood has run cold.
But they aren't gone yet,
Their blood is still warm.

A shot runs through my shoulder,
Strange voices coming from everywhere,
One saying to get back,
Another saying it's happening again...

What's happening?
What do you mean again?
Head hurting, splitting, painful.
Everything around me is fading...

No dont leave... please...
This is all I have left of them...
My friends who fell,
My brothers by creed not blood.

White lights, white clothe.
Strange voices speaking strange words.
A man in blue and white,
Red spatters of blood on his shirt.

It makes sense,
For now I see,
I was rescued.
One out of four.

I'm alive...
I survived...
It should've been them.
Why couldn't it have been them.

I was left...
Like...
A gift to be unwrapped...
By wandering eyes...
A specimen on a slide...
Under a microscope...
Examined.
Studied and defined.
Known.
Every inch of me...
Nothing sacred nor anything hidden...
Opened.
Experimented on...
Changed into something I am not.
Altered.
Not my own...
By my own...
But now owned...
By  strangers..
With...wandering eyes.
A species that I now identify
With and as...
From and because of...
For the cause...
Unknown cycles remain unbroken...
And...
Continue to grow...into...
Splitting images...of carbon copies....
Until it's the right size for rage...
And.
Thin lines of demarcation are drawn in the sand...
Inciting double dogged dares of spiritual warfare...
And war wears down the soul...
Not unto death...
But repair...
So that the poison dries and withers away like the chaff in the wind...
And wandering eyes are left...
To wander again.
~Say Dat~
April 2020

When I was a little girl I was told this world was filled with so much love. That with every scrape and every bruise their was a bandaid and a kiss to make it feel better.

When I was 10 years old I learned that you were sick. While it was a sickness in your body the doctors were able to treat it. From then on I learned that everything happens for a reason and that reason is to make us stronger. And everything that happens has a cure.

When I was 13 I realized that sickness was so much more. I never realized that sickness could've taken over your mind. It still doesnt seem real how at one moment a person you know so well can become an absolute stranger. You made me feel as if I was so useless. But I still stayed around. I tried everything

When I was 14 I realized that you weren't getting better. I thought there was a cure. I thought I could be the cure. Like the kiss to a scrape. All you needed was love. But I realized you didn't want my love. You were looking for something else. With your manipulative words you broke every single part of me. It's funny how kisses can only fix the outside damages but what can fix the damage on the inside? Words seem to only hurt more. You come to realize every good thing someone says to you is a complete lie. I didnt need a guy to break my heart when my own father did. The only love I ever needed from a man was from my father. It was at that moment I realized I was not lovable. If not even my caregiver for so long could love me than who possibly could?

When I was 15 I decided enough was enough. I somehow got the courage to finally cut off all ties with you. While this made me a better person I never got a closure. They say time heals all wounds which in some ways it does. I think rather in time you forget about things and push all the hurt down. Which can be a deadly game. I learned to bury my emotions for so long that I don't know what to do with them.

When I was 16 I realize that as that door is shut there is still so much hurt. Although I dont have to deal with your ******* and how worthless you made me feel I still deal with myself. The thing with mental and emotional abuse is even though the abuser may be gone... those thoughts are still always there. I still feel worthless and I dont feel as if anyone could ever love me. Some days are better than others. I believe every "I love you" means a I feel bad for you. And whenever everyone promises to always be there for me it's just a way to try and get me to trust them. What I've learned from you is every person who comes into my life I never think "I wonder IF theyll leave me" it's always "I wonder WHEN theyll leave me." I can never see myself as this great person who can accomplish anything. Even writing this poem I can only criticize it. Although this storm had passed.. the damage always remains.

When I look back on life I see how far I've come. I dont want to view myself as a broken person and I dont want anyone else to view me as a broken person either. I'm not "strong" I've just had to deal with a lot of *******. Everyone has their own problems and demons. That's just life. It's not fair, and it's not always beautiful.

“You should write about the fear,” she said.
“It’s six months out, and perhaps less raw.
People are fearful now, and it might help.”

My hand drifts absently down to my belly
and the collection of six scars.
I barely remember the fear of the time.
Shock is like that.
It was one day at a time, at times
just one hour at a time
for months before, and even here, now
months after.

Not so much the fear of dying.
I have danced close to that drear druid
before. He is no stranger to me
and I lost my fear of him when I was but eighteen.

It is the manner. The pain, the possibility
of months and years of being so unable,
of the loss I might leave behind, those ripples
of how much less I might become, and have,

and never knowing that in that less,
there might be more, something different emerges.
It was only being able to feel the moment
and the moment being this terrible thing
that could **** me in little descendant notes,

the possibility that I would be robbed of the joy
in a woman newly discovered, children newly launched,
in a lack of possibility stolen by mere survival.

That was the fear. And part of it still lurks.
The recovery so strong, so good, and yet still,
so incomplete and you wonder, despite the progress,
despite the rehab,
despite the still day to day work of it all,
how much of you will return
and how much will not,
and more importantly,
what you will replace the missing parts with,
how you can calm the ripples of loss
and replace them with something more,
waves of power and joy.

I don't like looking back,
three years ago I didn't have
any friends, any hope,
I gave them up all for a joke
of a man who laid his hands on parts of me he shouldn't have
and yes I knew, I swear I knew
that I had to leave but I couldn't move,
'cause at one point in time you had me by my mind
and I almost lost it all,
you didn't care you watched me fall,
but that was then and this is now and now is always gonna change,
but for today it's safe to say,
that I'm gonna be okay.
I say I'm gonna be okay.