PTSD

Training our bodies to understand,
What strength and honor embody and it’s so grand.

Until we are weak and fractured,
And we realize that we’re all manufactured.

So we’re racing against the odds,
Praying to all of the gods.

Hoping that they will give us light and balance,
To all of the words that we used in parlance

Finally, we can see the rays of hope,
Only to find it’s a phrase with a steep slope.

Into the past when I was young and nave,
Or to the future when I am strong and brave.

Young or old
We have sprung into feelings,
With which have been untold.

Coming home left alone,
Just flying around like some kind of drone.

Looking in with your eyes you judge us all,
But you don’t understand how far we’ve crawled.

And instead of reconstructing our inner beauty,
You leave us with nothing but misery and scrutiny.