Tag: PTSD

This side of the dirt,
alcohol splits purple skin.  
Words drill tender skulls
that become DNA.  

This side of the dirt,
home is where the horror is — 
Rhythmic screams become lullabies.  
Walls remember what the wounded won’t.  

This side of the dirt,  
Memories fade with bruises.  
Forgiveness blooms in a good day.  
Muscle memory elicits laughter.  

This side of the dirt,  
I bury my name  
beneath the porch — 
it can’t echo when they curse it.  

This side of the dirt,  
Roots grow from stupors — 
They hold me still and loyal,  
never safe.  

This side of the dirt,  
I write on skin with blood — 
he learned to hit
beneath the clothes. 

This side of the dirt,  
they speak kindly of the dead.  
Kindness was a language  
he never knew.  

This side of the dirt,  
they eulogize a missed man — 
wish him peace.  
Peace fled every room he entered.  

This side of the dirt,  
I cried over his coffin — 
my soul screamed 
in relief and exhaustion.  

This side of the dirt,  
they plant flowers on his grave — 
I plant silence in my throat. 
It blooms each time he’s called “beloved.”