The real 1%ers...

So I know there are a few of us who are constantly battling the demons of our choices. We just can't seem to find people who understand us. We all seem to not want to let go of what we have been through and move on. No one understands the feelings we have, no one understands the fear we felt. No one seems to know what it's like to watch a life fade before your own eyes. God forbid they do something like go to a foreign country and do battle with a person who looks different, talks different, believes different. Do you know what its like to go somewhere and be hated for what they think you believe?

Truth is this, they don't.

Granted, I don't think what I went through is anything like what the Marines went through on Tarawa, Guadalcanal, Khe San, Hue City, or even Beruit. Nor do I feel as if I can sit at the same table as the guys who took Baghdad. I do know that I am doing well. I don't need medication, I don't drink excessively, I have great relationships with people. I have struggled, I have been down, and I still have the nightmares of the screams at night, the women on the trucks, and the bearded man who asks me why I shot him. That's usually a pretty interesting dream because we end up talking about other things in my life...does that make me crazy? Whatever, everyone is a little crazy.

It hurts me to know that I have brothers in pain. It hurts to know that all they really need to do is give it up and not carry that weight anymore. You aren't alone in this fight or in this world. There are many out there who do know what you are going through. There are many that will sit and talk with you and talk you through what is going on. The mind is a funny thing... If you give it a chance it will fix itself. You can't drown it out with alcohol or drugs, it takes time and effort. You need to take those demons straight on. You are going to have to go back to the fear, the uncertainty, the anger, and the frustration. You need to realize that, yes you are in control. Yes, you are emotional, and yes you are hurting. Once you realize those things you can deal with them. It may mean you need to be on anti-depressants for a bit. You may need to give up the beer and liquor until you can control it or know where your limit is.

Don't let the pain get you down. Don't let the demons of your choices rule your life. You are not a victim...you are a survivor. The 99%ers can kiss your ass because you know when things get bad you will stand up and fight. Those who think they are going to be part of the 1% need to ask themselves this question: Do I have what it takes to stand up?

I know I do... I've done it. I am doing it. I have been everyday and I will continue to do so. Because I am strong, I am smart, and I want to live the way I feel. I will not be a statistic, I will not be the person people say is "messed up", and I sure as hell won't be the guy who lives off of hand outs for the rest of my life. I earned my title, I earned my place in this world. I have gone forth and done things that people only do in video games. I wear my experience with pride and I give thanks to those have gone before me.

I am the 1%.

I am here for you if you need to talk...

When the chips are down,
and no one is around.
You pick up your phone,
and you call me.

To fill up the time,
to be alone is a crime.
To let go of your baggage,
to vent your frustrations.

You say hi to be nice,
the conversation is concise.
That is the very least you can do,
because I am lower than your shoe?

I don't meet your standard,
I don't make your grade.
I don't rate to share your shade.

Everyone sees it,
everyone knows.
For you think you are hiding it,
but your true colors are what shows.

That's okay,
that's alright.
You aren't worth the fight.

So tired of the fake,
be real for goodness sake.
I give you the real me,
at no charge...because I am free.

Whatever...

The countdown begins...

Yea, I can't wait to leave this place... The arrogance, the nastiness, the bubble, the people all can take a walk.

The fight back home...

We have stowed our rucks,
returned our rifles.
We have said hello and given big hugs.
We drink that first beer,
give our brothers a cheer.

We go home on leave,
with hashmarks on the sleeve.
Ribbons on our chest,
time for long needed rest.
We hope for peace,
for the bullets flight will cease.

No more convoys,
no more ECP's.
No more hides,
I'm done with sleeping in weeds.
No more come up sheets,
no more eye strain from the scope.

To move on with my life,
is what I hope.

I feel peace, I feel numb?
From where did this come,
this feeling of despair,
for this, for that, for her,
I just don't seem to care.
I can't sleep at night,
I'm always ready for a fight.

I turn to a bottle,
I swallow that pill.
I can't seem to find any thrill.
Light up a bowl,
go for a stroll.

Destroying my body,
not caring for life.
This is the tune of my strife.
I'm in a dark place,
I can't keep up with this pace.
They don't understand,
I just want someone to hold my hand.
I don't want the screams,
even though safety is what it means...to me.

Tell me I'm ok, tell me it will get better.
No one knows...
No one knows...

I wake up one day,
I can see the light.
No one knows...
I go to the den,
to find my zen.
To center my life,
to be rid of this strife.

I throw the bottle,
I flush the pills.
For those are what are stealing my thrills.
I'm better than this,
I don't need any of that.

My friends think I'm crazy,
may parents are scared.
This is something new,
I have something to do.
To live again,
to move on.
To let it be a part of me that few show,
I want to let many know.

Just how much it has changed me,
I'm not the person I used to be.
I am stronger,
I am wiser.
I am clean.
I take on the battle at home

I fight through the guilt,
I fight through the pain.
I fight so I can remain.
I will give you the real me,
I will not hide behind the cloud,
I am better.

It's a lonely battle,
fought by many.
Those who fail aren't few...but many.
You kick us to the curb,
you tell us we are broke.
I'm laughing...because you are the joke.

I have come so far...

I am home.

Because I was white...

So this is something I haven't told many about. I'm not embarrassed by it but it's just something that I don't talk about. I don't remember a whole lot about it...other than the initial hit and waking up in the hospital.

I had been in the fleet for maybe two weeks and I still didn't have a bed to sleep in. I was sleeping in a sleeping bag on a iso-mat and living out of my sea bag. Since I was the ripe old age of 18 I didn't have a lot of people to hang out with. Everyone was older and out having a good saturday. I was just kind of doing whatever I could do.

A Marine came back to the barracks from spending some time at the brig for whatever reason (I found out later he had beat his wife pretty bad). He was a large guy... borderline giant. I was showering after hitting the gym. He was sleeping on the rack when I came out of the bathroom. I noticed he had a dream catcher tattoo and a NP (native pride) tattoo on massive shoulder. He woke up and looked at me. Nothing came of it so I continued on with my business. I stepped outside to talk to my girlfriend on the phone which I did for about two hours. After I told her goodnight I went inside and rolled out my bed. V (big dude) asked me why I was doing that. I answered his question with respect. I offered up a question, "What is NP?" He looked at me like I was an idiot. He answered with, "native pride...stupid white boy." I didn't say anything. He then went on about how I was so stupid to be here. Again I didn't say anything. He went on about how the white man made his people live on reservations and how they raped the women and what not. I must have gave him a look. I started to tell him that my family didn't do anything to his POW!!! Thundering fist right to the mouth. I fell and he picked me up with one arm and threw me...thats where I went out.


I woke up in the hospital with my platoon commander and platoon sergeant standing over me. I had broken ribs, splt lips, a black eye, bruised scull, and questions concerning if there was actual penetration. Penetration? That was the first thing I said. The medical guy said when I came in my belt had been cut and my pants were down. I didn't feel any pain...but the thought was still there. Had he? To be honest my body was nothing but painful. Not one spot was free from pain, my hair hurt. Well the questions began and they tried to piece together what had happened. I didn't have any alcohol in my system, no drugs, I didn't owe anyone money. Why did this happen? They didn't believe me when I said all I did was roll my sleeping bag out.

Well when the Company Commander got the paperwork back from the NCIS folk he showed me what V had said. When asked why he did this he simply replied... "Because he is white."

Honky Tonks...

Guitars, drums, and bonjos,

these are the tools of the shows.

Singing and dancing,

these are the games.

Pat Green, George Strait,

Chris Ledoux,

these are the famous, these are the few.

Who sing and who show,

for those who love to know,

how to have good time.

No drugs, no drama,

listening to the songs from Alabama.

In your favorite blue jeans,

button down shirt that's tight,

going out on a Friday night.

She is dressed to impress,

looking at her can cause a mess.

Hair pulled back,

or in a bun.

She is going out with you,

she will make the night fun!

You meet with your friends,

you meet with your family.

This place looks quite dandy,

with guitars playing.

The drums are blasting,

you wish the song would be everlasting.

You look at her,

she looks at you.

There is no one else,

but you two.

Two-step, square dance,

country swing, hear the voices sing.

Take me out, love me all night,

8 second ride,

there is no reason to hide.

The dance floor is wood,

you are in the mood.

Have some fun,

the night has just begun.

Shoot some pool,

looking at her you can't help but drool.

She makes you both look good,

in her tight jeans,

her hair flowing all around.

You dance slow,

you dance fast.

Forgetting about the past.

For tonight is all that matters.

Guitars play, drums make the beat,

banjos pick, the voices ring.

Oh my, she likes when I sing...

Twirl her around, pick her up,

you go to get another cup.

Another guy approaches,

asks her to dance.

Her face looks happy,

but her mouth is snappy.

She points at you,

he looks like a fool.

Because she doesn't want that man,

to touch her hand.

He walks away as you approach,

is he really wearing a broach?

What a gool,

I am looking cool.

It's Friday night and she came with you,

there is nothing that matters but you two.

The guitars are playing, the voices are singing.

The banjos pick, and your boots kick.

These are the nights that will make you happy...

High Maintenance

This is a poem dedicated to all the high maintenance men and women...

You are so high maintenance,

constantly testing my patience.

Crying all the time,

only to stop to whine.

You need so much,

you give so little.

You dress so fine,

never on time to any event.

Refuse to go camping,

because it's in a tent.

Drinking the Scotch,

that's only top notch.

To yack it all up,

in my semi-fancy get up.

Before I leave,

before I go.

You make me stop to talk,

something serious?

I think not,

it's merely to stroke your ego.

Because you are so weak,

you are so fake.

It seems to me,

all you do is take.

Do you give me anything?

Sure, your company...

Your body...

Your time...

All that is fine,

if you are a door knob.

You are really just an expensive slob.

You spend my money,

you take my time.

Not to give me a single dime.

I can't get better,

I can't win.

To leave you would be considered a sin?

You're the best thing that happened to me?

I'm more interested in the water on my knee.

You bore me,

you annoy me.

You're so vain,

it drives me insane.

Take your ego, take you clothes,

because it is me that knows.

Inside you are child,

with an future so mild.

You need someone to take care of your needs,

cover up your dirty deeds.

You don't have a job,

you don't have class.

You think you rate your sass.

Yea, you're gorgeous, yea you're the pass.

But really...you're a pain in the ass.

You akin to a pimple,

but you think you're cute like a dimple.

Eventually you will pop,

your ass will flop.

Your skin will wrinkle,

your eyes will cease to twinkle.

You haven't a brain,

through education trained.

You are a money pit,

who really is a piece of shit.

I'm done with you.

I'm done with your canvass face.

Yes, you I can replace.

I am better than this,

I am too good for that.

Oh yea, you don't look sexy in my hat.

Give me my shirt,

the thought of you in it makes my head hurt.

Don't sit on my lap,

you're a financial trap.

I'm not going to feed your ego,

I'm not going to tell you that you are the best,

it is you that can't pass the test.

Because you are so fake,

you are so spineless.

Why did I ever call you "your highness"?

I'm going with a mate that is great,

they are fun, they are smart.

They know how to get things to start.

Their life, their job, their class, their sophistication,

I wonder if she wants to go on vacation?

We could go see the sites,

climb to new heights.

See the world,

float on the sea.

Now he, she is the one for me!

They aren't high maintenance,

being away is the only test to my patience.

Laughing all the time,

oh my gosh, the paid the dime!

She unlocked my door!

She laughed at my joke!

Scoffed at my tent,

drinks cheap whiskey at the bars,

will only camp under the stars.

Does get dressed up in the LBD,

only because it will be removed by me.

Throw it on the floor,

or hang it on the door.

It doesn't matter where,

because its a cheapy from Claire's.

She's had a rough day,

but to my dismay she doesn't ask for the world to stop.

She doesn't take my card to shop.

Those of high maintenance,

who test my patience.

Don't leave just yet,

for more words you get.

You waste my time,

you aren't worth my dime.

You smell, you lie, you begin to cry when you don't get your way,

tomorrow is my day.

You have become a bore,

with your lack of class,

Go to the door,

don't let it touch your nasty ass.