Adventures in Post Traumatic Stress [again]

do not let the softness fool you
clouds cannot hold us up
there are no angels dangling their feet in the air
and i still want to fly
i've seen it done
teeth to the wind
the suspension of skeleton in a tissue-thin sky
there has never been such a crash landing
such a sound
as the dull thudding of hope leaving a body
finally getting all that it wanted
there is a word for this
a desperation
a tenor of static in the pit of a stomach
a cry that will never be tears enough
and there is no goodbye
no angel
no one perched in waiting at the edge of the atmosphere
waiting to carry us home

Peace Be

Adventures in Post Traumatic Stress

mental/emotional health disorders are often so easily brushed aside or explained away as other things....BPD, which usually pops up in the teenage years, is rationalized as teenage moodiness; DID is bad acting; clinical depression is oversensitivity; and so on, and so on...

but even with all that, i have always been dismissive of PTSD as an excuse to mope around and refuse to get over things. you know me - brush off everything that kills as me as being not a big deal - get through the days until i get better....so i figured anyone claiming post traumatic bla bla bla needed to man up and stop complaining.

mm.

a friend of mine recently returned from iraq, and since then had been suffering from crazy flashbacks. some not so bad...others that caused him to have crazy driving mishaps (read: one fender bender and one 3-car-showdown) because he thought he was under fire. today, after an evenful car ride home (read: praise god that i am alive), he ran into his apartment, barricaded himself in the bedroom, and jumped out of the window.

if anyone wants to tell me what to do with that, that would be great

peace be

Adventures in Friendship

Hastily scripted poetry offered as a pseudo-birthday gift to the homie, written in part during end of grade testing, as a precursor to the real gift that is coming.
----

i am already four steps in to a five step plan leading to a life of all beach house
of morning mimosas followed by catnaps and writing these papers for fun
a chef
perfecting made-from-scratch waffles to accompany this afternoon's chicken
and a bride in the corner, with special skill sets, mixing this evening's drinks
this is the vision
clear as a list on a whiteboard
floating in memory as first defense
to your question
here is the answer
i will do as i have been doing

i will appease this promise in the pit of stomach in whatever way i see i fit
namely
i will fall in love again
harder than before if it can be helped
use the heartwood to fuel my hustle
then write enough poems about all of it to catapult me headlong into the fifth and final step

"retire to fucking fiji"

and there will be no guest house
no strangers among us
namely
there will be no regrets

just an open-flamed sunset and handful of poems
as evidence for a life well-spent