BATTLE SCARS -Collaboration with Paul Roberts at Rooftop Rhythms October 2013

Paul Roberts

This is my rifle This is my gun
There are many like it but this one is mine
I was trained to use my weapon without consideration for my mind PTSD became I-E-D that affected my whole family Especially When symptoms are not visible The solution is not simple I cannot erase the things I have seen The things I have heard Nor create a normal life for myself afterward I am afraid of my rifle I am afraid of my gun The nightmares that chase me From them I can't run And I tried My past caught up with me on the night that I died A wound self-inflicted to kill the memories inside To kill the demons that chased me Is that suicide? The mind is hidden deep within the confines of the soul And when disturbed, the consciousness can spiral out of control Many war vets awake in cold sweats Perceptions blurred, with a reality of regret Battle scars will never fade The hand of cards that were dealt were already played The mind is a terrible thing to waste Some people lose themselves in the brain's grey space Fear becomes the rifle Hopelessness becomes the gun And it's unfortunate that this solider was unable to run

By: Paul Roberts

JS Photography (http://www.jamesimmonsphotography.com/)


He suffered in silence
Because he thought that
Even the slightest admission
Would prove him weak in our eyes
But his silence was boisterous
It echoed on high and
Traveled with the speed of sound
Like the thunderous roar from and IED
That sends a hum v toppling over
And soldiers flying without wings
As their limbs are being
Torn from their core
Or that whistling ringing sound
After the explosion of a grenade
Leaves survivors sifting through
Rubble for casualties
Or what feels like the Earth quaking
When helicopter meets soil
And there are no parachutes left floating in the sky
Or the constant guilt and questioning
Why them? Why not him?
Honorary discharge
But his mind was still at war
Operation Freedom
But his spirit was still imprisoned
Fighting off his demons
With only her to hold him through the night
Diagnosis post traumatic
Meds prescribed but not taken
Because they didn't allow him
To be all that he could be anymore
Everyone thought that he appeared normal
They didn't see it coming
But no one saw the world through his eyes
Flashes of death and destruction
That he was haunted by

Now she suffers in silence
Because constant discussion
Only has her mind running
Over and over again
Like a record that's stuck
Like a record that's stuck
And she hears herself yelling out
Running towards him
As he fell back in slow motion
After having pulled the trigger on a firearm
That with his condition
He was not allowed to have
Administering CPR
While blood flowed out his ears and nose
As his eyes began to swell
She heard a heartbeat
EMTs heard a heartbeat
And then it was gone
No exit wound found
As the blood pooled around his head
Almost like a cushion
Cradling him in his slumber
Her family wonders why he chose her
Angry that he took away her innocence
Her feeling of safety
How could she allow herself
To be put in such danger
Experiencing depression and
Having nightmares that
He isn't around to hold her for
Even the dog doesn't bark anymore
He left no note to explain
His desire to make her the recipient
of such trauma
An army of one
He felt like an army of one
Because the battle with this disorder
Was waged on him
Within him
The paperwork said he was
Not allowed to have a firearm
Yet somehow he was able
To remove his stress by
Simply pulling the trigger
And now like un-removable pieces of shrapnel
PTSD is embedded in her

So I ask you
Who dropped the ball on this one
Who didn't follow up or follow through
Who is responsible for this
Cycle of destruction that keeps repeating itself
It keeps repeating itself

By Alicia N. Smartt
*For a daughter who lost a love and a love who took his life

The Glue (after Boston Marathon bombing reactions)

I hear people chanting
Spouting their twisted ideologies
Gushing with outrage

Questioning why a nation would continue 

To allow foreigners to enter

If they only abuse the privilege 

Forgetting that they themselves wouldn't be there

If entry was denied

Unless they can trace that Native American bloodline

How quickly they forget

That the structures that stand now

Were carved out on the backs and shoulders of

Some of these same people they 

Thrash with words of scorn

Forgetting that when mom and dad 

Were too busy, these same foreigners

They speak of

Clothed, fed, changed their diapers

Cooked, cleaned, and made their house

A happy home

These same foreigners 

Do the jobs they don't want to do

The gardeners, janitors, and sanitation workers

The construction workers,  nannies, and maids

The taxi drivers and gas station attendants

The bus boys and 

Their favorite barista 

Nurses, home care attendants

Sometimes even the doctors

And countless others

They are the glue that bonded everything together 

And to now say that 

They shouldn't be entitled to any of it

Is amazing to me because 

I too am a foreigner

I've taught  your children

I've wiped their tears and talked with them

When you were to busy to converse

I've addressed their disabilities when you were

In denial or just plain selfish

Or conflicted by

What the Jones' would say

I've fed them when you forgot to

I've been the counselor and mediator

The friend and confidant

When you just didn't take the time

To simply sit and talk to them

I've tried to mold them into better human beings 

Than what I remember children their ages

Being when I was growing up

If you honestly believe that only foreigners are 

Committing these heinous crimes 

You're sadly mistaken

This anger that displays itself through violent acts

Stems from years of misguidance

Misinformation and miseducation 

From mental illness

From bullying and lack of self esteem

And countless insecurities 

From lack of motivation

From inability to accept responsibility 

For one's own actions

From misuse of holy doctrines

From idolizing and placing individuals on pedestals

Who have no business being held that high

From people spewing hate and anger

Let me say that again, 

From people spewing hate and anger

From some isolated incident 

That was never resolved

And then spun into a 

Web of destruction over time

From fear of the unknown

Stick a scarlet F on my chest 

And label me a foreigner 

Cuz that's what the heck I am 

And I make no apologies for it 

Cuz we foreigners bleed red just like you

And whether our collars are white or blue

We will forever be 

That glue that bonded this country together

Mother/Addict (performed at Rooftop Rhythms 5/25/2013)

Bodies tremble

Like damaging earthquakes

Longin' jonesin' fiendin'

Rockin' back and forth

He was too young to remember

Too innocent unsuspecting

The pieces to his jigsaw puzzle 

Hidden deep within

Only to be stirred up again

In later years by

Graphic movie images

Acted out on wide screen 

Or 42 inch

Someone else's vision

That as a boy he lived

People of all ages all races

Crouched down in dark corners

Abandoned building

Filthy alleyways

Master bathrooms 

Longin' jonesin' fiendin'

Pacin' back and forth

Eyes on the prize

They could find within 

The cracks of the sidewalks

As they stumble along

In a zombie like state

Trying to escape themselves

Hiding from the rest of the world

With only the flick flick flickering

Blue yellow orange flame 

Of a lighter

To show their ghostly existence

Attempting to erase the pain

But ironically only inflicting it

On themselves

Their loved ones 

What's your weapon of choice

Be it the killers of pain

Left over from the injury 

No longer ailing you

The libation that you sip

Hidden in that coffee cup or water bottle

Pipes to inhale fumes

Dollars rolled in tubes

When you snort lines off mirrors

Do you see yourself

Rubber tourniquets 

Tying off the flow

Tapping on veins

Needles injecting matter

In its bubbling melted state

Off scorching metal spoons 

Or bottle tops

Swaying back and forth

Passing out mid sentence 

Catching a quick breath

Repeat and repeat again

Eyes rolled back so far

As if looking for the 

Brain cells being burnt away

Fading into the background 

Until the next hour or two

Until that next hit

Doing anything for that next hit

Money gone

Valuables gone

More brain cells and

More brain cells

All that's left to cell 

Is themselves

Lost hours

Lost days

Lost friends and family

Broken homes

Broken promises

Locking herself in the bathroom

She hid it well

He didn't see the signs

Too young to understand the truth

Until watching these graphic movie images

Brought his kaleidoscopic memories

Back into view

And when the credits rolled

He saw her

His mother

The addict