Concrete Soldier: Dec 1st Memoir

Yeah… This ain’t no TikTok moment.

This that December 1st photo— Me in uniform, boots planted, heat in hand. But behind that grin? Let me tell you what it really was… December 1st, cold air on my chest plate, Armor felt tight, like pain couldn’t escape. Came out the barracks with that “don’t ask” face, Mind on war mode, heart in a dark place.

Gun in my grip like a child I raised, M4 by the side, eyes stuck in a daze. Crates behind me, camo all around, But the silence in my head made a thunderous sound. I posed for the photo, yeah, but my mind was gone, Thinkin’ ‘bout who I was before this life came on. Ain’t no peace in a picture, that’s just a freeze frame, Of a young black soldier built from pain. Smile in the shot, but it’s really a mask, Behind that was rage and a loaded past.

Too many nights in my bunk tryna hold in tears,

Too many memories echoin’ from past years.

I seen boys break down when the orders dropped,

Seen hearts stop beatin’ when them rounds popped. Me? I stood still, I became the cold, Turned soft skin into steel, like the stories I was told. This uniform? Ain’t just clothes I wear, It’s trauma stitched tight, sewn into despair. Chain of command don’t see what we lose,

They just clock who salute and who refuse.

Look at that pic— You see a soldier with a gun and boots. But do you see the kid who grew up with pain as truth? Do you see the heart that broke but stitched itself? Do you see the fighter who ain’t ask for help?

That Vy? I name her. Cuz it’s the only thing that understand my brain. Held it tighter than lovers I done lost in time, Told it secrets in the silence between drills and grime. The sidewalk beneath me felt like holy ground, Cuz I been walkin’ through hell just to stand my ground. And them buildings behind? Cold, sharp and grey— Like the days that mold me into what I portray. Dec 1st, two-thousand-twenty… Snapshot of a man made in fire. You see a pose, I see a soul that ain’t ever come home. That concrete soldier? That’s me. Not flexin’. Surviving. Flashbacks daily, can’t sleep right still, Every sudden bang make my blood stand still. Seen homies drop, seen panic set in, But I ain’t break—I just broke from within. Remember that training? Where they yell in your ear, Tryna scare you to death so you forget your fear? I ain’t forget. I filed it away, Under “Things That Might Kill Me One Day.” They told us: “You are lethal. You are trained.” But they ain’t say what happens when you feel insane. They ain’t brief us on heartbreak, grief, or guilt, They just gave us a strap and a heart made of silt. Look— Before I wore camo, I was fightin’ in the trap, Ducked under streetlights with a blade in my lap. Now I duck different—under pressure, not chrome, They replaced street beef with wartime zones. Swapped out the ops for drills and ranks, But I still see my past in the mirror when I crank. That smirk in the pic? That’s my last defense, A barrier between me and experience too intense. Real to be know staying systematic brrrr