A Letter from UrHere/PTSD

Violators,

Sometimes abuse is random, perpetrated by strangers committing crimes of opportunity. It was January 1984 when I encountered the two of you. I was fighting for my life and the one I call Driver…I clamped onto your thumb when you tried to silence my screams for help. You had to pull your thumb between my teeth, leaving your flesh behind. I spit your flesh and blood onto the pavement. Thirty-six years. PTSD. I wrote the poem below. It’s good. It’s bad. It’s ugly. I call it:

Smiling on the Outside

A normal day for me is

Talking to people

Having a “normal” conversation

While I relive

The taste of flesh and blood

The taste of survival

I smile on the outside

Sometimes people say

My smile made their day

Happy I could make

Their day a bit better

Perhaps they will smile

At someone

Because

Someone smiled at them

On the inside my heart

Beats

An ancient tribal drum

I recite

My Warrior’s Blessing

It is a good day to die

I make peace with death

Before I defend myself

If I must die

Today it is okay

Death is a portal

My Warrior’s Battle Cry

It is a good day to die

I make peace with death

Before

I defend myself

If you die today

I am sorry

As I look into

Your eyes and smile

When I spit your

Flesh and blood

Into the dirt

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