Creepin out my shellA Poem by J. B.a journey of self reflection from the mind of a combat veteran, upon coming back home, and finally being able to start the talk about "what happened over there"I find myself awake at 3am, every morning, haunted by choices I had control of once; choices I made and blamed on the organization I was part of. what better justification than that of laying blame on the only thing one doesn't have any control of? But I had a choice, and those choices haunt me and curse me in skeletal ways, laying me bare with bone depth reality: cursed due to my own ignorance as an American man my own ignorance as a warrior under the service of corporate America. I ask if I will ever forgive myself someday. I ask myself if I should. why not fight for peace and mend the broken? not with lead and steel but with fiery words to spark a flame of passion and understanding to those who are afraid of the unknown why can that not be the sole purpose of a military? deployments to foreign lands to help those that need it most? or perhaps we all need the help, and prioritizing conflict and heart break is an abomination in itself. I spent years of my life working; no, not working. fighting. killing. stealing. raping culture and ideals that were never mine to touch. in the name of what I blindly agreed to as the idea of freedom; for a country that abuses it's own constitutionality. are my eyes opened too late, or were they always open and I was too involved too wrapped up in my own white privilege to pay it any mind; to give it the due cause, time, respect, and recognition it deserved and deserves still. Somalia, then Sudan *then the part of the world that used to be known as a mecca of freedoms of cultures and faiths; before the first World War; the Ottoman Empire brought peoples and cultures together peacefully. Now a lasting instigation of bloody sand and soil grit and grime hate speech and slavery religious persecutions invisible brick and mortar walls of racial division. then Sudan again only this time in a fight that was not mine to be in during a time of turmoil that split the country into a North and South; The Carolina of Africa. Pick a side; the winning side: only to steal its' resources with shady trade deals and empty promises of protection against opposing forces; forces that fight for the same reasons anyone and everyone else does. what was I doing there? is the U.S. behind the slave trade in more ways than they would like to be made public? Oh, did you not know of the slave trade in Libya? Refugees and underprivileged the distraught; fed distorted hopes and empty intentions those are the enslaved does it scare you that their life so closely reflects your own? the chains are different as is the deliverance of them; they are forced into theirs you forge your own with smiles of indifference the same way you address the slave trade now thriving in Libya with indifference but indifference and ignorance are the same one is said with a shrug and the other with a scowl can I justify my actions in Sudan Can I morally accept my part in Somalia. Was I aiding pirates or protecting people from them? Or perhaps I already know the answer to all of this and the truth is a shot of whiskey you've already taken, knowing how strong it was; I now have the choice to swallow it whole and accept it for the truth that it is, or spit it out and ignore the fact I ever knew the taste of it. but, much like pride the truth has always been hard to swallow yeah. I'm starting to creep out of my shell to ponder my reflection bloody knuckles and bruised intentions scars, open wounds, and all A prostration of self to begin the steps of reconciliation and reconstruction I see it all; all of me, laid bare. when is the last time you stood naked in front of the mirror
© 2017 J. B.Featured Review
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Added on December 6, 2017Last Updated on December 7, 2017 AuthorJ. B.NYC, NYAboutFeminist Anti-Trump MMA instructor Musician/Composer Activist USMC veteran Intellectual Kink and sex-positive advocate more..Writing
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