Prisoner In My Own Mind Poem by Tears From A Soldiers Eyes

I AM THE FORGOTTEN PRISONER

I am a prisoner
in my own mind.
Not saying that for sympathy—
I don't need pity.
This is just a sentence
handed down
by the things I've done,
the things I've seen.
That's how I learned
freedom
ain't
free.
I laugh with my friends.
I joke.
I keep up with the times.
Smile when it's expected.
Nod when it's easier.
All while wearing chains
no one else can see.
Hate—
that's not what keeps me moving.
It's the love in my heart
that keeps me flowing.
But love doesn't unlock the cell.
It just reminds me
what I'm missing.
There's a skill to hiding pain—
few master it,
most never notice it.
Because simple conversations,
harmless words,
can rip old memories
straight through my ears.
I know you didn't mean it.
I know you're innocent.
You weren't playing on my fears.
So understand this—
the face I show you
isn't fake.
It's armor.
Because my head
is crowded.
Memories floating like dead leaves,
season after season,
and I'm the one stuck raking the past
with bare hands.
They tell me to take pills.
Lots of them.
Like silence is healing.
Like numbing the ground
will pull the roots out.
And I know—
there are millions out there
who've had it worse.
I'm not trying to be a martyr.
But pain doesn't compete.
It stacks.
And theirs piled on mine
only makes the weight heavier.
So when I watch the government play games,
I feel shame creep in.
Like a slap to the face.
Like everything I gave
was for nothing.
They say they take care of their vets—
political bluffing.
Empty promises in tailored suits.
I trusted a system
that handed me five dollars
and asked me
to put my life on the line.
Back then,
I was just a walking future victim,
caught in a money-driven machine
that feeds on belief.
Time sharpens vision.
And the clearer things get,
the more fear I see
staring back at me.
Whatever happened to
"for the people, by the people"?
Guess it's just a myth
we repeat
until it sounds patriotic enough
to swallow.
It hurts when you zoom out.
When you finally see
the bigger picture.
So like a message in a bottle,
I seal my pain shut.
And the only time I let it spill
is when it rains.
I'm not lying when I say
I'm a prisoner in my own mind.
I know I shouldn't let it all get to me—
But some days,
I feel like
a walking
penitentiary.
I'm not perfect.
Never claimed to be.
But I'll keep laughing.
Keep breathing.
Keep smiling—
Until R.I.P.
when I'm finally
free.