Vincent Poe — PTSD is talking here

I'm the first to greet you each day. In silence, I reflect on your way. A gentle reminder, soft and true— the reason life keeps going is you. Before the weight of the world's embrace, before it leaves a single trace, 9 Glory of the Sunrise As time presses into the darkness, I step aside, leaving behind darkened trails as perseverance carries the radiance of my desire— to take charge of the core within: life's drive. I never admired the dreams of others' personas; my desire emerges, proof of my own path. I am the stigma to my existence. I am the voice to my soul. This is my grasp on life's hold upon us all, to be the keyholder of our own existence. Walked a lot of roads to get to today. Self-worth is what I seek in my solitude. Painted walls to match the exterior of my wrecked mind, catching the attention of folks, creating an audience, an offering. They're drawn to the complexity of my 10 content, shaped by the woke industry's post-traumatic lens, while I come to terms with my body's fragile control, in conflict with the mainstream narratives of others. 11 It's a Catch-22, bringing me to the limelight on others' burdened shoulders— family cries, even imploding impulses— once again, the key to uplifted success. Wrenched by the weight of heartfelt cries, I prosper in moments, hours, seconds, 12 People are pocket change A purchased party, transactional to its finest. Some are worth cents while others are worth dollars. 13 Thoughts can crumble easily when we listen to those who guide us. But in truth, the pain lingers. "Underrated, not defined—bypassing the entire genre of prose and literature. I'm still good at this level of life's worth, though jaded by the workings of trauma." friendships in passing. He fought the pull to end it all, dragging himself through battles he didn't start— questions clawing at his mind. Why can others just walk away from memories, as if they never mattered? 14 If past endeavors aren't masked with resentment, what's the point of self-reflection, discipline, or even self-respect? If you step into my life, my house, my space— only to rip apart my soul, body, and mind, then let's play the same game. Oh, wait— you're crying victim now because I'm winning, using the same logic you started with? Alright. 15 I'm left carrying a heavy burden— missed melodies, sorry melancholy. Whispering to the heavens, "What did I do?" but bracing for karma to flash before my heavy eyes. Strap in. Let's get ready for this ride. 16 I. I laughed when I entered the room, thinking I played the elephant, the one no one dares to name. "An anti-hero with a superpower: turning everyday moments into scripts, the dullest of scenes, a story of—." 17 And calling me a poet— well, that doesn't mean love will find me. Happiness comes alive in the midnight hours, in sleeping souls, and moonlit skies. It's not that I'm avoiding love, justice, or the shape of things. It's just—at heart, I want to be alone. The world feels quieter, the universe, more willing, and me—more grateful. Just a thought. Anyways. If not today then tomorrow. He stands more powerful than ever before, a man reshaped by the fire of his journey. 18 And the walls they built around their fears shall crumble beneath the weight of my dreams. Let them speak, let them sneer. Their voices are but whispers, drowning in the silence of those too afraid to rise. They once drafted a reality of fictional events, a web of lies that sought to burden my soul with weakness. But no more. As I aspire to become a phenomenon, I stand tall amidst a world of doubt, fainting in the arms of glory, change, and charge. I become superior to their world of greatness, for in my rise, I redefine what change and recognition truly mean. 19 20 Sat through the tired script— watched you test how far you could stretch me before I snapped. Funny, isn't it? How I looked like I took it all. But I watched every mile you ran, thinking I was blind. No, honey— the only clueless one in this tale was you. I'll always stand on my crown. Your worth? Not my responsibility. You mistook royalty for a stepping stone. 21 The anti-hero handbook Oh, why? Stir the pot, then cry when it's hot— play the anti-hero, like it's some grand plot. 2025? Yeah, I'll set the scene, watch the world burn, then call it routine. But hey, don't play victim when you lit the fuse, then hand out sob stories like breaking news. Own the chaos, or take the fall, just don't act shocked— you started it all. 22 Healing? A lie I tell myself while writing a script where I'm both the sinner and the priest. A donor of evil, smiling like I've never bled. Demonic hands rewrote the birds and the bees, tore the wings, drowned the hive, turned purity into appetite. Now, dirty play is all I crave, filling my cup faster than a reckoning. Ahah— I go, laughing at the burning of others' pride and joy. I was made for this. I was born in this fire. And I'm never putting it out. Call It Friendship. 23 If I was the circus to your clown party, why not, right? All eyes on me, walking the thin line between chaos and grace, the spotlight burning while you paint my face— controlled, laughed at, a trending topic spinning beneath the big top. Juggling masks and forced smiles, tripping over rehearsed lines, while you toss confetti and call it friendship. Am I the show, or just the joke? A spectacle, a headline, a fleeting laugh before the tent comes down. But why not? 24 Let the ringmaster crack his whip, let the crowd cheer— 25 because even in the fall, you'll still call it friendship. Stanza. "They called it strength when I learned not to cry. But strength was the mask— survival was the monster underneath. I sharpened my silence into knives, 26 Don't act soapy now— all clean hands and wide eyes— when his karma finally came to call you by name. Ever hear yourself walk away from your body? 27 It begins with a howl to your own pack, begging them to assess the emotional damages they inflicted. The scar? It hijacks your process, every time you try to be socially acceptable during the simplest of occurrences. 28 And somewhere, deep down, you know that it's setting you up for the same game, only with a different set of rules. (Spoiler: You haven't outgrown it.) But there's a whisper, an echo from somewhere beyond time, calling your name. It's not from anything you've known, or something you can escape. It's… something else. Something that might just change everything. But before you can listen, the clock strikes again. 29 about your feelings. It doesn't stop for anyone. It just keeps screaming, over and over again, a constant reminder that life moves, even when you don't. And maybe… maybe that's all it is. (Flips to a new page in the notebook, writing quickly as if compelled) I'd rather let the chaos of it all guide me, even if it takes me places I'm not ready to go. Because, let's face it: life's not about finding the answer. It's about making the questions worth asking. (mutters to themselves) 30 Guess we're all just… trying to figure out how to live with what's been given to us. And maybe, just maybe, we'll get it right, even if we never do. (The sound of the rain intensifies, and the character closes the notebook, standing up slowly. • • • They gaze out at the storm, contemplative yet resolute.) 31 And now you think the only way out is to burn it all down." I looked away, my eyes scanning the horizon. The city seemed so distant from here, so detached. It was hard to believe it was real. The same way it was hard to believe I was still alive, still standing after everything. "You're wrong," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't know how to live like this. Every day is just another fight against my own mind." He didn't answer right away. He just stared at me with a kind of cold recognition, the same emptiness in his eyes that I saw every time I looked in the 32 mirror. "You know, when I first came back from the war, I thought I could just bury it. Thought I could forget. But every time I closed 33 my eyes, it was there. The sound of gunfire, the cries of people who had no names, no faces. 34 The Last Step The pages turn, the story ends, but the journey lingers, my old friend. Through every trial, every tear, a lesson learned, a fate unclear. The past still whispers, soft and deep, but now it's just a memory I keep. No longer drowning in its weight, I rise, I move, I change my fate. The darkness once a heavy friend, now fades, and I begin to mend. The echoes of pain, the wounds of time, now turned to strength, a rhythm, a rhyme. What's done is done, what's gone is gone, but the fight within is still on. The scars may mark, the road may wind, but peace is something I will find. So let this be the final word, a moment captured, a thought unheard. For in the end, the story's clear— healing is just the start of here. 35 And though the end may seem so near, it's only the beginning, my dear. 36 The path is long, but now I know, with every step, I'll let it go. 37 I start reflecting— and my past drains a whole day's worth of energy. My mind is full of regrets. Emotional battles. Fear that nothing is ahead. 38 When you rise from an endless cycle of abuse and apologies, you start to feel more in tune with yourself. But as I write about you, I have to remember: 39 I forget my strengths— my ability to see obstacles before they arrive. The past made me stronger, but I still get caught in it— like it's only me standing here carrying all of it. 40 People stare at him like he's an object— a thing made of self-hate, worthless love, careless living. They don't want a life with him. 41 Thoughtful human— my dream human— remember: love can beat us up and still trap us inside it. 42 Give yourself the chance to start over. Stop living in the past. "This doesn't exist anymore." Out with the old. In with the new. 43 Starting over isn't easy. Support yourself. Support what you love. Support who you're becoming. You only get one life. • • • The theory behind self-respect should always begin with you. 44 You— my everyday cure for a vacant heart. Worthless temptation. Mind-blowing thoughts. 45 And as time moves forward— even if the joke was on him— it isn't anymore. It's on me. I know this game won't last. But in the moment, this dream feels too real. 46 He's making careless choices based on the damage left behind— after endless civil talks, endless fear, endless pressure… until everything starts to look like blood. That is him fighting. • • • I'm trying to start a storm before the sun— so I can learn something new. 47 I want my body to feel worthy again— especially after losing it all one more time. 48 As I turn the next page, the lover of my past chapters starts writing themselves back into my life— like they never left. 49 Some still burn with lightning in their eyes— storms I started, still circling, praying I'd drown in my own rain. They don't knock. 50 They drift in— ghosts dressed in my old words, asking if I've learned to listen yet. And I don't run. Not this time. I let them sit beside me, their silence heavier than blame, their grief my inheritance. "…Maybe this is how forgiveness begins— not as mercy, but as exhaustion. The kind that stops chasing thunder, and lets the wind finally rest…" 51 Just Because I Died Just because I died doesn't mean the rain clouds have to start a flood every time. Let the sky grieve in silence. 52 I don't owe you my breakdown in digestible pieces. You may watch, but you do not direct. You may listen, but you will not name the soundtrack of my screams. 53 Your only way of coping is "doing what's right scenarios." Based on people, places, things. Emotional Dominance is your form of protection. While ego is to mask the open-door policy you supposedly portray? you then travel into a lifeless cycle of hatred, regret, and resentments. You question yourself Knowing the outcome before it's even presented. Just to revisit the animosity of your life. Cool. 54 I am the past of my future abilities While making a name for change I am the mogul to my name. I am the hero to my story. Feeling mentally unstable over the blood trails of broken wars I've had within myself Daily doses of reminders of owning my past. 55 Friday, July 28, 2023 What's the story behind your nickname? Enrico Port, oui. June 5th 2022 - I made headlines in my hometown that made it all the way to Maine down to the Florida keys. (Google search Vincent Magnani) I made a new identity - not for any reason - the only reason I guess is start my life. Yes, it was when I was twenty-five, where my life begun. 56

The Mirror

Leave a note for Vincent.