Am I A Monster?

Am I a monster,
Because I cannot feel?
Through war,
Death for me has become so real.
And life is but a sweet sweet steal,
When metal searches for the one it kills.
Where is the glamour that’s supposed to conceal,
What medals and awards can never fulfill?
For guilt consumes and leaves an empty shell,
Of a young heart and emboldened eyes,
And cracks of skin clenches the arms of hell.
Dark corners shelters the pang of regret,
And a haunting question of “did I do my best?”
I’m afraid love can’t rescue what I have left,
For the sands of a thousands miles uncovered the greatest theft,
That shares the wounding of brothers I’ve never met.
Do monsters live,
Because I have died?
The only shard that makes me human inside.

The Question of Enemies

What I came to love as fantasy
Has become my worse enemy.
And the beautiful prose,
Of “O say can you see”
Has become my secret enemy.
And streets laden with casings,
And unfamiliar faces,
Keeps me in paces.
And dust covered notecards,
With scribbled verses,
Breathes solacing praises.
For love of country,
And love of life,
Struggles between a paradoxical blend,
Of loyalty and resistance,
Of honor and resentment,
Of vengeance and contentment.
And who are my enemies
That are faceless?
In a desert?
A sea?
A jungle unbeknownst to me?
Or will it be when mendacious leaders,
Make that choice for me?
Now streets are filled,
With armor from battlefields.
And war has come to us,
In form of protection.
Will the day come,
When they bind us for our objection?


Do they cry for me,
As I cry for them?
As the desert breeze lulls me to sleep?
And as I walk along this stormy beach,
Do they send a boat to rescue me?
Waves crest upon the shore,
In a seductive dance of chance,
And the sun that beams,
A subtle dream,
Lights the rhythm of war dance.
What say to me,
That hasn’t already been said?
For heroes blood has been shed,
So injudicious fears could be fed.
Honor becomes the triumph of the dead,
As consummation becomes the burden of the led.
So what becomes of me?
A shell from my innocent self?
A departing tide from my farewells?
An archive for the glamour of war I dispel?
For war grips tighter,
With every pass day.
And as my silent scars become my portrayal,
Will my steps become my pursuing betrayal?

Out There

Out There,
Where dreams are forgotten,
Where the sweeping air,
Chills hope and lost.
Where the stench of burning rubber,
Tells us life’s not fair.

Out There,
Men will become heroes,
Not by choice but by circumstance.
And a chance to graze eternity,
Is met with happenstance.

Out There,
Men will cry silently at night,
And tears will comfort their fright,
And a new sun brings news,
Of a desert that bites.

Out There,
The smell of life will prevail,
And senses will deepen,
As we say our farewells.


What is love,
If there’s no chance of burning?
What is lust,
If there’s no chance of yearning?
And what is life?
If there’s no chance of learning?
What is strife,
If there’s no chance of earning?

Out There: An Adventure Film

I’ve always had a love for storytelling, the outdoors, and writing. It has always been somethings that’s been an inspiration to me. But I buried it and choose the practical path in life. I went to college, went to war, and hit rock bottom.Sometimes in life we get second chances, and if we are really fortunate we have many chances to start anew. In life things happen to us that we deem as bad, but maybe they are the things that correct our paths. I started writing to heal. To heal from war, self destruction, disappoint, the things that we experienced in life. To let things go, to grieve, to let experiences have their right to be heard.

I’ve always been an adventure/explorer. Going into the woods at a young age and discovering the world around me and the joy of solitude. Probably the reason why I joined the Army. An inner force was driving me to live what I truly wanted most. After 3 years of going through one of the toughest stages of my life, tougher than war, I wanted to make a project that would encapsulate that. To give a voice to what we experience as Veterans when we return home. It’s not every Veteran’s story, but it’s enough of us. I want to create something that’s real. Without the glamour. A real look at what happens to the soul when it experiences loss, regret, and war.

This project will be a film. An outdoor/adventure film. It’s my first time doing something like this. I really have no idea what I’m doing, but I’ll figure it out. There will be many mistakes and triumphs, frustrated nights and clear days. It’s something that’s burning in my soul begging to be awakened. Sometimes when fate calls, you need to answer. I will share the process of creating this film with you all. If you want to help that’ll be great. Below is the brief plot of the film “Out There.”

If you want to tip me and support I’m a cryptocurrency guy:

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Out There:

Is a story about a Veteran who goes into the outdoors to reflect on war and it’s aftermath. Traveling through the outdoors and wilderness, he tells his story through poems. It’s a deep, real, gripping, view of life and war, adventure and loss, and the aftermath. It tells of the naïveté of youth, the destruction of self, and what we gain by losing the best part of ourselves. Out There is about discovering the deepest parts of you, the things you fear the most, and gaining freedom from it all.

Another Man

I can spill blood for my country,
But I can’t love another man.
We can grasp the trigger of a weapon,
But we can’t hold hands.
My lips can taste the dirt of a foreign land,
And give my soul for the ones that can’t,
But we warriors who walk another path,
Can’t touch the freedom,
That blankets this land.

A bullet cares not for who I love,
Just that I’m in its path.
Nor does the explosion cares,
Who receives its wrath.
Nor does the dust cares,
Who it swallows whole,
Only that nature return those for which it holds.
Am I a lesser man,
Because I love a man?
And if hell awaits me,
Why should I fear?
For hell is walked before death,
Through rages and cages,
Through stages and misinterpreted pages.
And is my sacrifice tainted?
Because the love I choose will never be sainted?


A body covered in ink etch memories,
Of a time being wild and free.
Leaving home on a jet plane,
Never knowing if you’ll be back again.
Fresh faced and wide eyed,
And laughter quells the reality of dying.
New men you regard now as brothers,
For they have seen you at your worst,
When war has taken it’s toil,
And sought to return you to dust.
Looking into each other eyes,
Knowing that this may be your last,
A right of passage that must be passed.
A letter is exchange in hand,
No words are spoken,
Just an acknowledgement of your last stand.
There’s no glamour, no heroics,
Just a silence that pierces the heart.
As the beat of your blood races,
Through rubbled filled streets and precise paces.
You turn to see familiar faces,
Covered in dust and sweat,
In love and regret,
And the signal of fire,
Throws thoughts to the wind,
And blood fills streets,
Of young brothers you’ll never see again.