Poets logo

PTSD

A Poem

By Shannon ButlerPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
Like

It’s called Post Traumatic

Stress disorder

Makes the sameness the same.

Or different, or something else

The cold glass of water

Sometimes they don’t know it’s there

And sometimes they just suffer,

Not knowing what is wrong with them

Coming home is nightmares, loud bangs, and screams

Coming home is laying on a scratchy couch

Talking of things to a stranger who says he can help

Coming home is faking a smile at family reunions

And hoping it’s believable

Coming home is not hurting himself

To fix it, it won’t fix anything

So they tell him.

social commentary
Like

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.