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There was a kiss to mend our breaking hearts,
Duct tape in the form of words adhering to the surface of our beating regret.
Muscles ached in a camp where dreams were shattered,
Dark and light skylines blending into one fretful existence.
Memories replayed like lullabies each and every night.
Shots rang out, piercing our ears in a way only war could,
Each day more vigorously agonizing than the last.
Sleepless weeks preceded our first orders, bittersweet foreshadowing left unnoticed.
Screaming, rounds clinking into the dirt barricades,
Even the sounds of sobs as our friends fell remained for weeks.
The dropping bodies raised my rank. It wasn’t enough.
The pain I’d felt for months finally mellowed into something sweet.
They had no use for my division’s personal expertise.
They had no use for my language or stories.
They had no use for resentment and disloyalty to their cause.
They strapped me down.
Bloody, raw, broken–My throat no longer worked as I wished it to.
Garbled noises replaced articulated sentences,
Taken as obstructive gestures and a reason to tighten my straps.
The lights flickered and faded from my reach again.
“Buck?” I hear, eyes drifting from the white, stained ceiling.
A man dressed in all blue–no, there’s red and white as well.
American. Blond. Blue-eyed. Sharp jaw, furrowed eyebrows and he’s speaking–
Broken straps set me free as I followed the man with the shield.
“When did you get so big?”
Indebted. Chasing bullies away compared in no way to Steve’s hero march.
It didn’t come anywhere near my rescue–an altered twist of fate.
I would have had a simple death,
Family already moving towards a funeral without a body–
Closed casket and moddled words. Eyes downcast. I was already dead.
And then he brought me back–red, white, and blue worth fighting for again.
The flag had a meaning and we fought for him–Steven Grant Rogers,
The man I’d follow til the end of the line.
A lucrative name formed for an elite group of soldiers,
Each of us specialized for a different subject.
We put our lives on the line whenever necessary,
Blindly following his light like a moth to a flame.
Our wings started to grow colors–
Individualized respect and our profits acknowledged.
The flame burned brighter, we fought harder, followed quicker–
Hard and fast, my scarred skin donned third degree burns.
Hair blowing, his figure getting smaller, outstretched arms straining–
A bloodcurdling, agonizing scream ripped through the air,
Tearing apart the small victory before it had a chance to show its effect.
Stomach plummeting, eyes watering, everything moving slow-motion–
My family finally had me back, their tortured hearts repaired.
Fine sutures held them together
And I was once again the scissors to cut them apart.
My favorite fire flickered and then it went out, bones and being chilled instantly.