Becoming a Soldier

Months of crawling on my bare hands and covered knees for this;

The blood, sweat, and tears I’ve shed,

All for this one very particular moment.

The adrenaline is coursing through my veins, the muscles in my body poke out,

Like the outline of the target figure; rained down with bullets pierced with holes.

I’ve been waiting all this time.

 

My mom always wanted one of her four daughters to join the military;

The idea of one of us coming home for Christmas,

Duffel bags, uniformed head to toe, slick back bun, I am a woman.

My dad who’s a proud Air Force Veteran, he’s astonished by my dedication to this glorious Country.

I strive to please my parents.

 

This time, I’m not only fighting for my country, I’m fighting for my mom.

I’m thanking her for the sacrifices she’s made for me, and for the rest of my siblings and I.

The idea of not returning home doesn’t phase me one bit, I am making this sacrifice.

I am willing to take a bullet, only by means the country becomes safer.

The image of my family being in danger makes my body hot and eyes lit with flames.

The levels of my adrenaline only soar higher.

 

I am angry.

I am ready for the war, the combat, the violence, the terror, the aftermath, everything.

I am going to take back what is mine, I’m taking back my freedom.

As the strap below my chin feels tighter, the anxiety lingers in my brain.

My body is dripping with sweat, my legs feel like they’re about to collapse.

I push the thought away, I must focus.

 

The rifle sits cold in my small, clammy hands.

“Hold your breath, focus, lock, shoot.”

The voice of the drill instructor keeps repeating in my head;

Almost like a record left on repeat.

The belt around my waist is packed, ready, and loaded with extra ammo.

I flinch at the thought of losing my bullets or the grenades for that matter.

 

The hinges of the drawdoor of the truck anxiously lower.

I rush out.

I have been prepared for this moment in time.

There are so many thoughts circling in my head.

The regrets, happy times, fights, makeups, crazy, wild, fun memories.

All the times I left the house when I was younger without saying “I love you” to my family.

 

I want to go back in time.

To the nights I would get into arguments with my parents because of my grades.

If only I didn’t slack off and be lazy back when I was in school.

Back to the days where I would get into petty arguments with my sisters over the littlest things.

How one sister would take my clothes, the other my makeup, the other would just play with my belongings in pure fascination.

 

I want to go back to the days and nights of endless arguing with my boyfriend.

I carry my engagement ring in the pocket above my breast, it’s close to my heart.

A marriage is promised when I return, I know I will, I must make it.

The night we all drove to the airport; with the temptation to turn around and go back home,

His hands are tightly weaved with mine, he won’t let go, as his grip becomes tighter to the point It hurts.

 

Everything that ever created conflict was resolved.

I don’t want to be remembered as the argumentative daughter, scolding sister, complaining Girlfriend.

My heart tightens, I haven’t even made it off the truck yet.

All of the memories flash in front of my eyes, like a fast speed rewind of a tape.

Please just let me erase all the bad ones, just leave the good.

 

My legs tighten up as my boots feel like they’re griping my feet tighter.

One, two, three, four steps and I’m off the truck.

The rain pours down and soaks my uniform and my bulletproof vest.

My uniform with everything else on it feels like I’m being pulled down with a bag of bricks.

My boots seep into the mud making it more difficult to keep up with the squad.

Thunder and lighting light up the sky and make the Earth shake.

 

We hide in the trees, hiding in the brunt of them, nearing enemy territory.

Branches snap and crack under our feet, it’s just us, not them.

I have the hearing and vision sharp as knives.

I solely brace myself, I’ve spotted someone all by their lonesome.

This is all for my mother, father, sisters, boyfriend, friends; most importantly my country.

I raise up the rifle, tightly gripped, lock-in, hold my breath and steady; 1, 2, 3, shoot.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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