So I’m a veteran now..
Help me open this
C & P exam notification.
Look at that,
a winner has been selected
for my mental health’s raffle.
Combat activity report card reads as follows:
2 deployments for me
&
93% on the subject of
American history.

I felt the ghosts
of our heroes
let their tears fall
over my shoulder,
because the heaviest pen in
the planet struggled to check the box that was applicable to me.

I’ve been feeling decently
until recently,
when I was notified,
that everything
that I try to hide
in the tombs of my psyche,
will be –
resurrected,
dissected,
&
placed under
a microscope.
Picture my ptsd..
As a protozoa in a petri dish,
just small enough that I will never
feel whole (fill hole)
unless I open up,
I will never heal my soul…

Or maybe a telescope,

for everytime I’ve
spaced
out.

There’s a dissonance
in the distance that
slightly resembles the terror that
holds my happiness hostage.
“Incoming,”
Incoming,
Incoming!

any alarm
& this action movie
shapeshifts
into the horror genre,

Michael Bay
transforms into
Stephen King.

“It” is
“The Pet Semetery”
Where
“Cujo”
Is buried,
alarms also make me feel like
Jon Coffee walking
“The Green Mile.”

The Doha Accord was signed on
29 Feb, 2020.

Despite this alleged “armistice,”
the mirage in the dark was the target of many armaments..

12 bombs…I think?

like scalping your enemy,
i’ve tried to sever
that memory from my head,
but try as I might,
it hangs on by a thread,
how could I ever forget
the bomb that knocked me out of my bed?

& the subsequent phone call
to my parents..
telling them how
f*cking scared I was.

Oh, the heartbreak harbored in their eyes,
for only a handful of times,
have they seen their son cry,
but anytime I heard
Incoming, incoming, incoming..
It was at least possible
I might die.

I genuflect to inspect
These 17 coins I have earned,
Jaded-
I helped pack the grave dirt of far to many urns.
The petri begins denting from the inside.

Still Sealed by the gravity
That re-wrote history:
the fat man who crashed
bockscar in
Nagasaki.

Or
the little boy birthed
from enola gay
in Hiroshima.

“Do alarms really bother you?”
“Yes, it’s my heart beat playing hide and seek,”
“Is it getting any better?”
“Not really,
Every time I try & get some sleep
I hear the floorboards creak,”
“Isn’t it just another noise?”

“No.

It’s every thought I’ve ever had against my life,
The Grim Reaper’s sychte felt so cold upon my cheek…”

Im thankful for all of the help
that I have seeked,
for the last 4.5 years
I have my good days &
bad days,
& I’m hopeful that
one day,
it will be
Just Another Noise.
But until then,
I hope you see everyone is different after they’ve deployed.

If I were a flower I’d be a rose.
So ready for themes of love it sheds it weight in time.
“She loves me, she loves me not.”
Petal by petal I give away until I’m simply thorns.
First love. So sweet it hurts like a cavity of the soul.
Her smile so bewitching I gave it all to the unknown.
The feeling of driving to paradise on earth.
Beauty empowering me closer to the illuminating picture on the post card.
Vacationing in her warmth.
One by one, cloud by cloud the blue skies slowly wilted a gray.
I sway, hand in hand, in melancholic bliss waiting for a rainbow to split the clouds looming over.
No cover, adoration of the ever consuming rain gives hopeless fodder.
Consumed in gluttony of thine own sabotage.
Meddling; criminally in the poetic justice of one single word.
Love.
If only I told her that.
She was my Mona Lisa.
Da Vinci knew that beauty was not his possession, but the world’s to see.
Subject to a story of myth.
Lifted higher than icarus so I may learn how to fall; down.
Deeper, fallen into an abyss by the shot of cupids arrow.
Greeted by only a sign at the entrance reading “lost and found.”
A place in time existing only for lovers whose hearts wander off to the slaughter.
The unexplainable phenomena.
Wandering hopelessly until an improbable yet possible collision sets us back on course.
My lovely Andromeda to be.
A gift of fire I wish to collide with once more.

A Moment in Time

Prologue:
Fleeting moments of crisis
Oft change our lives
Powerful lessons learned quicky
Affecting our day to day lives

I prefer to dwell
On memorable events which
Make me smile,
Understanding the world in new ways

Interlude:
Thirty years have passed
Since our eyes met
In a chance encounter
Over a fishing trawler’s prow,
Queensland’s coast in sight
You gracefully moved
Through blue waters,
Surfing the bow’s wave
Rolling playfully onto your side
Briefly, our eyes met,
As we peered into each other’s souls
Memory forever tucked into my heart,
I descended from my ivory tower,
Rediscovering my humility

Epilogue, 30 years later:
Under an African full moon
A majestic bull elephant
Paused in a small clearing
I sensed his peaceful energy

Positioning my hand
Over a puppy mill momma’s heart
I felt her sadness wash over me
In a single wave of salty tears

I will always be drawn to other species
Looking for deeper understanding,
Until my eyes and heart become
Unable to connect with others

A chance encounter
Thirty years ago
Forever altered
My life’s trajectory

-Beth Arrowsmith
October 1, 2024

A poem written to my first grandson Finnely Moon.
The day the moon stood still.
The world stopped spinning you put me under a spell.
Watching you sleep brings me such peace.
I never thought I would experience this moment and have such peace.
Here cradled in my arms how you feel so small.
But you control the oceans, light, and time.
How mighty powerful you are.
Who would ever guess how much I would love this Moon?
You’ve opened up my heart and allowed me to bloom.
Every time I’m around you I want to write poetry.
You bring out the muse in me filled with such creativity.
I’ve never felt such joy as when I became your grandmother and any darkness left over from the years dissipated at the moment you were born.
You have showered me with your light and bathed me in your joy.
It’s penetrated the very marrow of my bones and has filled my soul.
The day the moon stood still.
The world stopped spinning you put me under a spell.
Watching you sleep brings me such peace.
I never thought I would experience this moment and get to watch you sleep.

My dear,
He does not care.
I’m sorry if you think he did.
He doesn’t think about you at night.
I’m sorry if you think that he does or did.
He doesn’t see your face in a crowded room.
He could be looking at the woman behind you or next to you.
He never did care about you.
He only loved you chasing him because it fed his ego.
It made his ego bigger while making your self-esteem smaller.
He doesn’t remember the feeling of kissing your lips or being intimate with you.
He’s kissed so many lips and there have been many he’s been intimate with that he’s forgotten.
He forgot the color of your eyes when the sun hits them and the shape of your eyes…
Even though you remember the words he told you to make you feel important.
And those words?
Those words were probably the same words he told all of those other women.
You remember everything because everything with him was special for you.
The intimacy, the love, the words, the smiles, and the touch.
He doesn’t talk about you or mention you to others or tell you how badly he misses you.
He never did.
You’ve questioned that and you always will.
It’s time to stop overthinking that.
You are the only fool who does that because again, you are feeding his ego which make his insecurities go away but make yours come to light.
He doesn’t love you anymore and maybe he never did and just said those words to you to get what he wanted because he had that leverage over you.
I’m sorry honey but it’s time to let him go even if he is the father of your child and was your first love.
Even if he has been the person you’ve gone to for all of your problems.
And has been what you thought was your best friend and believed that your conversations between you two were kept between the two of you when some of them weren’t.
Walk away…
Let go of that love you are holding to.
Nothing is going to be like it was because it never was genuine.
Let him go.
Let it go.
Stop standing there paralyzed by the pain of what was done to you.
Move on.

For context, this poem is from my memoir “Rising Up”. It was Easter Communion, the church prayed, myself included. After the prayer I experienced Spiritual Warfare by being paralyzed in my seat in a praying position. That is when I said this poem out loud quietly.

Oath of Service

Dear LORD,

Forgive me,
for the sins I have done
and the shadows
that have grown
inside of me.

I beg
for forgiveness
for letting these shadows
linger inside me
for so long.

Help me be free
from the darkness.

In exchange,
I swear an oath.

Let this be
my oath of service.

I swear upon my life,
I will serve as a protector
of the people who praise you.

I will be the shield
that keeps them
safe from harm.

If those that attack
refuse to back down,
with a sense of regret
I will also be the sword
that strikes.

You teach to show compassion
to others, even those who wrong us.

In this state of madness
our world has fallen into,
I’m afraid I may have to be
the sword and the shield.

I will do my best
not be lethal.
All I will try to do
is defeat them.

If the shadows inside me
can not be removed.
Then give me the strength
to make these shadows
bend to serve you
as I will to my last breath.

After finishing I became free from my praying position. I was scared, and soon got involved with volunteer work with the church.

Everyone in the inner circle seemed to assume I’d be sad when you passed
But I wasn’t.
If anything I was more upset to learn how much pity you received
While I was frozen.

It doesn’t make sense does it?
The night of your death became the password and the key
to unlocking every single thing and door
That you walked me through.

They never had pity for me like they do with you.
I kind wish they did, but I know they never will-
So I just stare beyond my window sill
And wait for you to admit it to my face
I would’ve gotten lost in the paint
But I was worried, that my bedframe would break
I’ve tried to understand you and it worked and I forgive you,
But the aftermath of your death was a tragedy for us both.

“Yes you are.” “No I am not.”
“Yes you are.” “No I am not!”
“YES YOU ARE!” “NO I AM NOT!”

“Do you remember God?”
A mother’s first question.
“It would be so easy to shoot you right now!”
A father’s first actions.

“No I am not.”

The one with a choice is not me.
Hate is chosen.
Love is built in.

A heart beating warmth to your soul.
I tried so hard.
The voices insisting what my head could not accept.

“NO I AM NOT!”

My tomboy ways convince you.
But we are not homies.
You do not know me.
You haven’t a clue.

“I deserve to be hated?
I am a sinner?
I am a pedophile?
I am going to Hell?”
So disgusting.
Closing the doors to my dark secrets

Years of torment.
How could this be?
Exploding with emotion.
It all must go.

The negativity.
The hair.
The self-hatred.
No more!

“I Am!”

Lifting my head.
Buttoning that nice blue shirt.
Lacing up my boots.
It feels so good.

Now, sideways looks.
“No we can’t serve you.”
“Don’t not touch our things.”
“Do you have a mask?

“Am I sick?”

“No!”

I am not sick.
I am not bad
I do not deserve that!

I am me.
The best me.
The kind me.
The smart me.
The loving and honest me.

It’s time to dive head first.
Opening the doors to the darkest closet.

I put on my big-girl boxers.
I grabbed that blue button-up.
And threw on my hat.
I put that rainbow belt on that screamed, “I’m so not her roommate.”

I tore those doors down.
I stepped out of that closet.
I am a tool belt lesbian.
Thanks, TikTok ur a librarian

I can never go back.
My head is held high.
I’m holding your hand.
“Do you?””I do!”

The dos and the don’ts
The nos and the nots
It all falls off
So all you got
Is I AM

First day!
What to expect?
Exited, nervous, undefinable?
Confused, turned around,
Don’t know where to go,
Or how to study?

Well you’re not alone,
My first time at university
I was eighteen, unsure
Of what career to persue,
And what to study for me to succeed.

A new chapter in lives
New expectations, responsibilities,
That weigh heavily, as duties
To self and society’s demands
On your ability to make moneys,

Live alone,
Pay rent,
Have a relationship,
That’s heaven sent,
Have 1.75 children and pant
As you pay bills that pile, always spent.

Firsts are always flustering, lone,
As none other than expectations, gone, gone
Down the tubes as reality is a forgone
Hindrance to cheer that has none
Of the tools for survival except a will made of bone.

©️ Malak kalmoni chehab ©️

A fleeting moment is what it was.
Back then, when you stayed the weekend at your not-yet dad’s house.

A simple question is asked,
“Do you want to move here?”

You were so tired, awake past your bedtime.
You had to get up before dawn to drive the hour back home with your mom.

You asked, “What do you mean?”
Excited at the choice, but scared to jump into a new school; a new life.

You always were, and still are, a recluse at heart.
But, the question was asked again and you said yes without much thought.

You never did fit in, but you never noticed.
Not until it was too late, but you never really cared.

And did you ever regret the move?
Well, you still live there, don’t you?