misdiagnosis

ptsd,

his wobbly voice

tells me one more time

and i know this is false

because i have not seen violence.

i have not witnessed body and blood

separated,

nor torched homes lighting a path

in the darkness.

i have not carried the guts of my brothers

on my back,

i have never watched fire fall

and touch every layer of every existing fiber on it.

a mild case,

and i refuse to believe it

because my pain

doesn't hurt that much.

no matter how many times

i dare myself to stare,

i have not seen the whites of death's eyes.

there is a fine line between my fears and what scares voids into men's hearts,

one i have never dared to cross.

it's different for everyone.

you're in denial.

i tell myself,

this label is yours

but i have enough dignity to know

it is not.