this was my first spoken-word poem I ever wrote.
Soldier
Underage drinking, and pots illegal. I'm full of pain, without any method of release. We're fighting for peace with methods of hate. This method of killing for a blind reason is keeping me awake. Im addicted to method and its making me shake. I can't paint a clear conscious to cover my guilt. The better I am at my job the more blood spilt. My machine is reading TILT, my emotions beginning to wilt. Life was hard enough before, and now this. So I find time to write a letter to my wife, and kids. I remembered my wifes love, her gentle touch, and her soft kiss. And my little boys hugs when they come to tell me theyll miss - me. I stared at their pictures for ten minutes apiece. Tears ran down my cheeks with utter disbelief. I realize I've forgotten how to love them. This f***ing war has turned me into a f***ing machine. Expressing my grief through chattering teeth, trying to say something, but no words coming out. My eyes are streaming and bloodshot; my hands covering my mouth. The room starts to spin and turn dark. Now it's my own familys love Im beginning to doubt. I don't realize it but this is just the start. What-if-my-kids-have-forgotten-their-dad-and-thats-the-path-where-this-trash-got-bad,-and-the-wifes-done-had-more-guys-than-math. Then I stop. Only to hear these demons laugh, because these rats have it better than I do. I pray to god to relax, but that's just half of what I have to go through. Im tired, and Im lost, and thats a fraction of what it costs, to give your damn life to this country that would sell you at a toss for more money. So I keep running for anything, , God, anything. No life killed, is worth this life, and thats my life to take more lives. Id take my life if it werent for the lives back home. Its too much.. And Im all alone. Who knows whats next, but I know Ill be there as long as my government keeps flexing its muscles and writing my checks Ill be there.
Soldier
Underage drinking, and pots illegal. I'm full of pain, without any method of release. We're fighting for peace with methods of hate. This method of killing for a blind reason is keeping me awake. Im addicted to method and its making me shake. I can't paint a clear conscious to cover my guilt. The better I am at my job the more blood spilt. My machine is reading TILT, my emotions beginning to wilt. Life was hard enough before, and now this. So I find time to write a letter to my wife, and kids. I remembered my wifes love, her gentle touch, and her soft kiss. And my little boys hugs when they come to tell me theyll miss - me. I stared at their pictures for ten minutes apiece. Tears ran down my cheeks with utter disbelief. I realize I've forgotten how to love them. This f***ing war has turned me into a f***ing machine. Expressing my grief through chattering teeth, trying to say something, but no words coming out. My eyes are streaming and bloodshot; my hands covering my mouth. The room starts to spin and turn dark. Now it's my own familys love Im beginning to doubt. I don't realize it but this is just the start. What-if-my-kids-have-forgotten-their-dad-and-thats-the-path-where-this-trash-got-bad,-and-the-wifes-done-had-more-guys-than-math. Then I stop. Only to hear these demons laugh, because these rats have it better than I do. I pray to god to relax, but that's just half of what I have to go through. Im tired, and Im lost, and thats a fraction of what it costs, to give your damn life to this country that would sell you at a toss for more money. So I keep running for anything, , God, anything. No life killed, is worth this life, and thats my life to take more lives. Id take my life if it werent for the lives back home. Its too much.. And Im all alone. Who knows whats next, but I know Ill be there as long as my government keeps flexing its muscles and writing my checks Ill be there.
