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By Alexander Thymmons August 2007 (then, a rifle platoon leader in the First Stryker Brigade, Second “Arrowhead” Infantry Division)
Whoopee, new material!! (New poem, but old frustration... to anybody who can suggest
"Boys don't cry" Has been my recent state of mind But I'm sure that it must be a lie Because now I'm flooding on the inside I am leaking from the outside And I am plenty of a boy
I'm afraid to feel nothing I am happy to feel tired If that is the one thing I am Then I am tired Say it as my first name As my title I embrace the fatigue I do not want to be empty
A friend once told me To wake up early And look up to the sky. The golden sun would light up The purple winds. Revealing the hidden creatures above,
Fatigue engulfed me like the idea of prince charming, But there's no answer to the undoable or the impossible Except entertaining an animal in this spongy forest. Oh! I found him.
Raised to work Raised to survive Raised to live but never feel alive Raised to hate by twisted fates from prior hearts that had no ounces Raised to fail in the eyes of success
I live in constant fatigue Each day draws ever more energy from the depleting reserve in my body. How I want things to change Aching yearnings and crushed feelings discomfort and anxiety
Average, never uniform. Irregular. Not consider the 'norm'. Outcasted, rejected, neglected, apprehensive. Delusional, Alone... The words stung not only forever ingrained. Becoming forever dynamic. Identity.