Long Ptsd Poems
Long Ptsd Poems. Below are the most popular long Ptsd by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ptsd poems by poem length and keyword.
A new dawn,
Unveiled hopes and surreal ecstatic.
The smiles on their faces,
Heralded news,
The folks were delighted.
It was worth every ounce of struggle.
Though, a dilemma.
Afraid of separation.
Yet, desperate to experience the journey.
The ambience compelled me.
I was finally seen off,
I was on a voyage to satisfy nature's balance.
Now I learned the way of flying.
They had fed me once, now the tables had turned.
The man I was had been called a coward.
They celebrated my bravery now.
Decorated badges shone and made them proud.
I lost one and two things to earn it.
Was it really worth it?
The grasp of my anxiety grew.
On a bright sunny day,
I was summoned by a great war.
The fallen heroes' cries haunted me,
They never let me close my eyes.
Though I dodged death,
My mates did not.
When consciousness returned.
A stream of blood filled my sight.
Decapitated bodies, blasted arms,
Eyes bulging out of their sockets,
The fallen were the luckiest.
One who lived was burning in hell.
Men begged me to put an end to their agony.
Our eyes shed blood,
Tears dried out.
I wished to shoot my brains out too.
The nefarious haunted site was too much to bear.
"I couldn't" I cried ....
A bullet shell dropped beside me.
I had killed my own man, or had I helped him?
His heart wide opened, and my shank.
My shin mangled, my eardrums burst.
"Medic! Medic! Medic!"
A few men rushed and took me away.
I only saw them talking but heard no word.
Certainly they would cut it.
The pain fainted me right away.
A chunk of metal cost me a leg.
What would a hurt man do?
Run away to his folks.
So did I.
The smile on their faces now faded.
They hardly talked about their dream again.
Blames encompassed a loop.
Still celebrated as a hero.
The shell-shock and vivid imagery of the war,
Ran through my mind every now and then.
I never slept again.
Trapped inside a war I had never waged.
It had now changed my periphery of life.
I despised it.
The fallen were the luckiest.
I couldn't even stand on my own.
I barely opened my mouth, only to be fed.
There it hangs, my greatest achievement,
So the folks claimed.
Why did I live in guilt then?
Was it to hide my sins,
Or to make me feel proud?
The barrage of questions and bullets,
Never left my conscience.
I may have quit the war,
It still ran inside my head.
We lie in the dark,
my back to his chest, clinging to one of his arms.
This moment is beautiful, tender, and I cherish it.
The silence is broken and his voice rumbles in my ear.
"Tell me about your past, my dear."
My life flashes past my eyes, quick as lightning.
Panic sets in, I gulp, sweat, attempt to avoid.
He sees through it all and persists.
Tears threaten to overwhelm me,
as internally I burn this moment into my mind, heart, and soul.
I silently tell him, my love, goodbye.
"My young life has been hard, painful, overwhelming.
I've been shot, nearly stabbed, nearly choked to death on the railroad tracks.
I've screamed for help so many times by choking on pills, sitting on train tracks, slicing my wrists.
Abused by a brother, abandoned by a father, neglected by a mother.
Kicked out, homeless, stealing candy from a gas station."
His arms tighten the more I speak, and I regret telling him anything at all.
But he has asked and I cannot deny him.
The words begin to flow like a car crash that I am powerless to stop.
"The abuse seemed kind when it happened, from lovers of my past.
Though each had specific rules, that I discovered fast.
I could not touch one unless upon seduction.
I could not trust her, for her death was near upon my fingers.
I loved one; they preferred to see me suffer, for I wished to make them happy."
I can feel the anger radiate from his body,
coiled tight, wanting a target.
I know it's fueled by a sadness, I cannot feel.
And yet I continued.
"I've suffered from nightmares for years, waking to tears or screaming.
I am easy to fright, even when unwarranted.
The PTSD causes me to flinch or jump at near every sound.
PTSD, insomnia, depression,
I've fallen down flights of stairs,
taken care of everyone else and have neglected myself."
I stare into the darkness as the words finally stop,
everything that ever happened replaying through my mind again,
from a new perspective.
Still I cannot feel the true tragedy of it.
I realize I have recited these things, in a monotone voice.
Devoid of the pain I must have felt.
But I am the rock, the caretaker, the forgiver.
He is silent with me, his arms an iron cage,
and I cannot breathe.
I do not mind.
He inhales deeply, his voice nearly inaudible he simply speaks.
"I will always be here for you."
And my heart finally breaks.
There is a violent war that’s not in movies.
These soldiers we lost are not seen on TVs.
Friendly fire is the biggest killer of our men.
Per soldier lost at war, at home we lost over 10.
People know of PTSD and shell shock.
But the effects must be taken stock.
We civilians don’t know what they go through.
As their mission ended with nothing left to do.
The training and survival skills do not go away.
The paranoia and fear are in the brain to stay.
Losing purpose and absent structure remain.
Leads to wild thoughts some feel are insane.
To help this issue we learn to band together.
Soldiers and civilians become of one feather.
The group is created to address the mess.
Allowing soldiers a place free to confess.
By linking all our bodies, souls and mind,
We continue the motto No Man Left Behind.
Put your feet on the ground and breathe deep.
Go up and down, quieting thoughts to a peep.
Fully balance out your body from head to toe.
Watch the changes as you reap what you sow.
Feel your body tremble working through pain.
Doing rep after rep, finding a pace to sustain.
Logging the numbers to account for the grind.
Crushing the haters you’re leaving behind.
Both internal and out keep their mouth shut.
Knock out a set and they can kiss your butt.
Suicide may have previously won the battle.
But Americans are not Grim Reaper’s cattle.
We’ve banded together to win this fight.
Saving lives at home is what’s in sight.
Whether you do many thousands or just two.
The squats can straighten out a mind screw.
Forcing the blood through our bodies quick.
Turning soft legs into muscle hard and thick.
Forging our glutes into newfound rocks.
Quieting the mental voice that mocks.
Demons can pucker and kiss our rock butts.
Squat therapy can prevent deep wrist cuts.
Connecting with distant suicide fighters.
Illuminating the dark room with lighters.
Helping one other on our physical journey.
Carrying the fallen on a virtual gurney.
The strong reach out and will carry the weak.
Forging us forward on the challenge we seek.
Some days disappoint and others we surprise.
But the goal of what we do is to open the eyes.
The experience I’m discussing is Mission 22.
It’s been an honor to share the ride with you.
So although we will approach the 2,200 soon.
The best is yet to come for us, so stay in tune!
The food was indeed, Greek.
My first Greek Frappe!
A most divine, heavenly treat.
Gods must have created this.
So far beyond good!
In gigantic glasses,with ice chips.
It was as good as an Ouzo on the rocks!
The Festival on Saturday was terribly
overcrowded,
I wanted to leave,before it started.
Fashion in the USA,no kidding has truly
grown retarded!
I like seeing men as men, not dressed as
obese 13 year old boys, sporting baseball
caps.
And the beauty of women?
Tossed away like toys, now women
only dress as boys?
My years are catching up with me,
I must hearedtdly admit.
I wanted to run from an American
culture that is so far from fashion
phenomenally adrift!
Like buffalo we were overcome with
the most fashionably unfit.
I sat with my daughter drinking a
Frappe.
And my only thought was how soon
and how fast we could get away!
I lost my appetite to eat with American
bisons!
With god-ugly toes jutting out of
cheap, plastic flip-flops.
Fat leaping out of obnoxious holes on
jeans of 300 pound women?
Ah, kill me now and let me go to
heaven!
I lost my appetite to eat midst this
hellish plethora of dirty feet.
And hair from hell to top off this
ungodly, human feat.
Then came beautiful girls, their
arms skewed with tattoos so ugly.
My desire to escape hit me much
more than suddenly.
I did have a Pastitsio, that was
yummy!
Just had to keep my eyes off the
volcanic, bulging tummies.
Thank goodness there were not
many children there!
Their mothers, the size of German
tanks would have squashed them
into instant mummies!
I did buy an icon of Christos and
Panayiota holding her child
Both in a carved wooden case.
Now this brought a smile to my
face!
And a turquoise evil-eye bracelet
with crystals, to ward off any
future toe and bison disgrace!
Greek bread we brought to take
home.
I swore up and down to never
leave my home, to roam.
Greek cookies, Kourabiedes,
and Greek bread, seemed to
calm my confused head.
Perhaps, going on a Saturday
was the worst possible choice.
Maybe I can go blindfolded next
year and hush my voice?
Or not go at all?
Still have PTSD, after what I
always previously I experienced
as a yearly treat.
It once was like going to a ball!
September 10, 2029
The attendees were not Greeks.
Form:
Awol on the aeorta,
I've built a wall around my heart,
Trying to suppress that which is grieving,
But it's still ripping me apart,
The night falls, elevating whispers,
From the silent gasps and muffled breaths,
Of a young lady in her twenties,
Crying alone and quite depressed, (left in distress)
I recognize her, I recognize this,
A mirrored scene like deja vu,
A woman weaping for a fallen soldier,
Only this time, I am you,
Those last moments start flickering,
Upon the gloomy, dark display,
Of closed lids, soggy eye-lids,
Projecting everything on replay,
My hands grasping the sheets,
My mind on forward and rewind,
As if on cue, I hear you too,
Amongst my stifled cries
My conscience replaying the voice,
Hunting me now is the sound,
Of those uttered words, that still disturb,
You sounding so sure, it's resound
"Call me, I'll be here", I hear you tell me,
Though your presence now lost,
A call too late, maybe on the wrong date
My sanity (it) shall cost,
"Call me, I'll be here", again it echoes.
Best said, forgiveness I now seek
My heart racing, my memory chasing,
Every essence of you makes me weap,
I still remember you crying in Daddy's ears,
Moments before he passed me the phone,
Yet when we spoke you changed your tone,
For me you wanted to be strong,
How alarming it was to hear you cry,
Like a leap year, (it was) a rare occaission
You stood tall and with pride, taking fear for a ride,
Standing at a whopping 5'11,
But it seems one day on Friday the 13th,
While you were stationed on the army base,
A gun was triggered, by the love of your life,
Which continues to baffle me to this day,
It was he, who you cried for when speaking to father,
A lost soldier conquering demons of the mind,
A mental affliction called PTSD
Deteriorated his spirit over time,
He was a soldier in pain, with PTSD,
Even more a father, a spouse, in distraught,
His sweet baby, The heart of his world,
Now the source of his paranoid thought,
Persistent accusations of cheating,
And all the places his mind did go,
The struggle he bore to fight those demons,
Now just part of the media’s show.
I try to find a level of understanding
But this battle I fight on my own,
As guilt consumes me, recurrent thought
Why hadn't I dialed your phone...
In time
The Seconds
[Excerpts]
(c) 2019, Anita Lerek
Section 1/4
First Generation - Before the Holocaust
Lvov, Poland 1930s. Mother, you were a Jewish girl but you were not expected to enter history. You played outside time like a star burning for trillions of years. Hands of pleasure created fire, and tossed in rags of exotic oils and sunflowers to heighten the mingling of school yard bodies barely formed. You lived inside bushes filled with chocolates, ghosts of guardians, and boys measured by swagger and expensive shoes
Your lives were handcuffed by words, set in the grammar of racial separation. But there was no one else, just you and your friends, beauty marooned in floodlit trance
————————-
Section 3/4
The Survivors
............
You lie on the beaches. You lie in the fields. You are bits of debris, tufts of life stuck together, shadows thrusting and contracting in search of embodiment
So many lost, beyond mouthing. What history removes, language cannot restore. Rather it is a burial ground, an anti-galaxy of boarded up stars. How many forms are there of nothing?
Ancestors cry out to you from pine trees and flowers, from buds and branches. You hear nothing. You seek out strangers. By touching them, you try to rouse a sleeping god of your lost civilization, to reach the boys, the sunflowers, the shadows begging to return
Your limbs touch, boxes smacking against each other, filling, releasing. You barely move. You let him have his pleasure. Then without a word, you leave, and return, to release the one valve, day after day; all others seized by horror. You never exchange names
—————————
Section 4/4
The Second Generation
..........
I was of the same cloth but not the same cloth. I did not occupy the same land as you. I grieved our severed skin
I come closer now, hover at your borders. Mother, your elements are wearing down, motions slowing, your fragments crumbling
Stop, stop, stop the cycle
of trauma: its birth, hardening into splintered towers, falling apart and re-forming
Let me into love before you leave me, here in this final land
where love crystallizes
into the expansive images
that cradle me
in beds of rock,
the last images
that I send up
to mend babel’s darkness
for trillions of years
BEING A DISABLED AMERICAN SEVERE PTSD ANXIETY DISORDER PANIC DISORDER EMOTIONAL PANIC ATTACKS TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY AND NARCOLEPSY I AM BASICALLY UNABLED TO DRIVE OR OPERATE A MOVING VEHICLE I NEVER DROVE A CAR TOO BAD MY IDENTITY THIEF DIDN'T TAKE THAT IN CONSIDERATION WHILE STEALING MY IDENTITY IT BASICALLY MEANS SHE CAN'T BE ON THE ROAD ANY FLORIDA ROAD LAST TIME HER HYUNDAI FLIPPED IN SPRING HILL GOD ONLY KNOWS HOW MANY PILE UPS ARE UP AND COMING IN HER WAKE THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO DEAL TO BE MADE WITH THE DEVIL THEE HARSH INTIMADATION TACTICS BULLYING IT BEYOND CRUEL PERSONS OF POWER ASSIST IN THE TAUNTING CHEERING THE IDENTITY THIEF ON HER FRAUDULENT ENDEAVOR FALSIFYING HUMAN LIVES TO GAIN WHAT A HYUNDAI KARMA WATCHING ALL THOSE EMPLOYEES IN ATLANTA FRAUD WASTE THRIVES IN THE SOUTH I AM VERY LUCKY TO BE ALIVE COULD YOU IMAGINE BURGULARS ARRIVING GIVE ME YOUR IDENTITY OR YOUR LIFE OF COURSE THE IDENTITY THIEF HAS NO REGUARDS FOR THE ABUSE OF POWER LOSING THIER CAREERS TO ASSIST IN A SHEER COVER UP THIS NEVER EVER LAST SOONER OR LATER MISTAKES ARE MADE IN SPITE OF POWER FALSIFYING DATA TO ALLOW ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT TO GAIN DRIVERS LICENSE BY HACKING INTO AMERICAN DRIVERS NO WONDER THE HIGHWAY PATROL IS SO BUSY SCRAPPING UP HUMAN REMAINS DRIVERS LICENSE IN THE WRONG HANDS IS MURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE IT CERTAINLY SHOULD BE NO DEAL ON FAKE DRIVERS LICENSES MOVE ACCORDINGLY STOP TERRORISTS THREATS MARC AUTOS 3181 PALM BEACH BLVD FORT MYERS FLORIDA ASK FOR CIRO GARGANO TELL HIM YOU NEED 30 CAR TITLES ON THOSE STOLEN VIN NUMBERS DON'T FIRGET TO CALL JD BYRIDER FOR THE DEALERS TAGS FOR THE VEHICLES ON THE FRONTLINE REPOS IN THE BACK ITS AMAZING WATCHING CORRUPTION AT ITS FINEST HOUR CIRO CONTROLLED PERSONS OF POWER BEING A USED CAR SALESMAN HE PAID OFF DMV EMPLOYEES ALL THE TIME EVERY MONTH HE FALSIFY PAPER TAGS TO CARS WITH NO TITLE THAT'S HOW HE RAN HIS CAR LOT SO I'M NOT SURPRISED HE IS SEATED WITH MY IDENTITY THEIVES USING ABUSE OF POWER TO COMMIT HORRID CRIMES AGAINST FLORIDA DRIVERS NO DEAL ON DEALERS INC MURDER INCORPORATE WATCH OUT FOR HYUNDAIS THE DRIVER HAS A FAKE LICENSE FROM MARC AUTOS USED CAR LOT SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW SOMETHING NEVER CHANGE EXCEPT CIRO GARGANO NOW SELLS GOLF CARTS IN SENIOR COMMUNITY STILL FALSIFYING VIN NUMBERS GOFT CART TITLES FALSIFYING DRIVERS LICENSES
Many say that everyone gives up on them. The sad reality, is that all to often, this is painfully true.
But then, you find someone. Someone different. Someone who has endured more for you than anyone else has. Someone who has over & over proven to be true to you. Someone who has proven to be trustworthy, loyal, honest, & care for you through thick and thin. They hold tightly to you no matter what you throw at them, simply because they love you.
Now, picture that person physically embracing you. You hold them at first. But soon your arms start to grow tired. You begin to question it. "Why would this person so strongly embrace me, when everyone else has walked away?" You begin to lose faith in this person's promise to you. Although they continue to embrace you; you loosen your grip.
Further contemplating, you begin to doubt your own worth. Moreso, you second guess this other person that is so tightly bound to you, & you drop your arms to your side. Although they still hold you tightly, you continue to doubt: "Why should I put forth the effort for someone who will surely walk away?" You are certain that the effort's worthless. But despite convincing yourself that it's too good to be true, they still hold you tightly. They love you. They have no reason, nor desire, to leave you.
You don't understand why they are still there. It's almost bothersome. "Why are they still holding so tightly, when SURELY they will leave in the end?" It makes you uncomfortable, so you begin to pull away. But they just pull you back. They remind you that they are here to stay. They hold you tighter, & insist it will be okay. All they ask is that you have faith in them; as they have had faith in you.
You won't have it. You can't. So you begin to fight them off. But while you push, shove, and try to beat them away, they do not fight back; they only continue to hold you.
You finally manage to pry their arms off of you, but they barely catch you with their hands; & again pull you close.
You struggle & fight to rip them off of you. "Noone could possibly want to stay this badly, it doesn't make sense!" The thought of someone loving you so much doesn't seem real, so it scares you. You can't be hurt again. So you must fight off any potential heartache...
To be continued...
I went to the dentist today.
The lady who cleaned my teeth had hair fit for a Weasley with large piercing eyes to compliment. Her name is Sierra, and she is 22 years old.
She asked me if anything had medically changed since the last time I had came.
I told her about my chronic pain and alopecia.
"Is that all?", she innocently questioned. I told her about my anxiety and insomnia.
"What's that sore on your chest?", she probed. I told her about my dermatillomania.
She nodded and got out her tools.
Here, is where I thought the conversation would end.
I'm so thankful I was wrong.
She looked at me with her large eyes and told me that she too has anxiety.
She said she has PTSD from some family issues a couple years back.
She knows what it's like, how it feels.
She sat behind me and asked me how I was coping.
I thought she meant with my mental disorders and informed her I was ok.
The only answer I can semi truthfully give these days.
She asked me if I was sure.
Told me I have sad eyes.
Asked if all of it together was overwhelming.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Yes, it is. It always is.
The only word that managed to escape was yes.
She said that only people who have it can see it in other people.
I have it, I know what she meant.
She recommended certain Melaluca oils to help.
Recommended melatonin for the insomnia.
Said I should text her, call her, Facebook her.
Heck, even make an appointment just for the sake of talking.
She'd go on break and we'd go outside just so I could vent.
Shared with me an inspiring image she loved.
It is a picture of Jesus, smiling, holding his hand out to Peter after he's fallen beneath the waves.
How even though we fall beneath the waves, Jesus isn't disappointed or mad with us.
She said he'll always be there for us.
She said that she knows it's overwhelming, and hard.
But keep your head up above the waves.
She recommended I read a novel titled, "Redeeming Love".
She said it helped her immensely.
Somewhere in here she mentioned I have striking features, and pull off bald better than most.
So much love and compassion radiated from her very words.
I've forgotten what that kind of love feels like.
People who spread compassion and understanding like flower petals give me hope.
Thank you, Sierra.
MY LIFE IS IN DANGER I BEGAN WEARING WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI SFTER SPECIAL LEROY HEIMBACH SPECIAL AGENT ALAN KING INFORMED ME THAT CIRO GARGANO KILLED 8 PEOPLE IN A FIRE MY CHILDREN AND I IN DANGER THAT BEGAN IN A TAILOR SHOP I'VE RETIRED I AM NO LONGER AN INFORMANT HERE'S THE THING GARGANO FAKED HIS DEATH TWICE AND HAVE BEEN LIVING IN MY AC VENT LITERALLY LISTENING DEVISES INSTALLED HE SITS WATCHING LISTENING TO MY HUSBAND AND I WHO IS A WAR HERO CIRO BECAME OBSESSED WITH KILLING MY HUSBAND HE GATHERED JAMAICAN DRUG DEALERS IDENTITY THIEVES FROM THE CARTEL CONVICTED IN NORTH CHICAGO ILLINOIS TIED TO THE JAMAICAN ASSASIN WHO ARRIVED TO KILL ME IN TAMPA BAY ALL AS A RESULT MY WEARING WIRES FOR THE FEDERAL BUREAU ARLINGTON HEIGHTS ILLINOIS HE IS VERY DANGEROUS VIOLENT HE IS TRYING TO KILL ME NOW HE FAKED HIS DEATH TWICE TO TERRORIZE ME THEM MURDER ME BY EXPOSING MY IDENTITY AS AN INFORMANT TO ALL THE KILLERS AND DEALERS THIER TWISTED FEMALE FAMILY MEMBERS JAMAICAN DEALERS IDENTITY THIEVES HACKING INTO MILITARY FAMILIES LIKE A VICIOUS CHUCKY DOLL HE IS A SERIAL KILLER MURDERER OF LISA ANN CARNES HE IS TARGETING MY HUSBAND MY WAR HERO INTIMADATION HOME INVASION STOLEN VALOR IMPERSONATING MY HUSBAND THE JAMAICAN FEMALES ACTUALLY POINTED AN ASSUALT RIFLE THROUGH OUR WNDOW LANDED ON MY HUSBAND CHEST FINALLY SHOOTING OVER 15 BULLET HOLES 38 SLUGS IN OUR PLANTS HE BLEW UP MY FACE WITH A CAR AND EMBEZZLED THE TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY AS I SUFFER HERE WITH AFIB ATRIAL FIBRILLATION IRREGULAR HEART BEATS STROKE HEART FAILURE BREATHING MACHINE WITH PTSD SEVERE PANIC DISORDER SEVERE ANXIETY DISORDER COPING WITH AGRPHOBIA NARCOLEPSY HE LAYS LOW INSIDE MY NEIGHBORS DOG ROOM WITH ILLEGAL JAMAICAN IMMIGRANT FEMALE STALKERS PERPUTRATING FRAUD UPON ME AND MY HUSBAND THIS IS A COMPLETE DIRE NEED IMPERSONATING A WAR HERO WHO HAS A PURPLE HEART GARGANO STALKING ME HUSBAND WITH THREATS WITH STOLEN VALOR CONNECTED TO THE POLICE CAPTAIN IN HAINE CITY STOLEN VALOR IS A HORRID CRIME AGAINST AMERICA'S FINEST WAR HEROS I AM VERY ILL COPING WITH HOME INVASIONS IDENTITY FRAUD RESULTING FROM MY WEARING WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS FOR THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION MY HUSBAND AND I ARE IS FILLED WITH STRESS GREIF GOD BLESS AMERICA