Hey, it’s me. Got a kevlar vest ornating my chest,
Walking a battlefield, with scars only partly healed.
Bullets and rockets explode, as the dead’s bones corrode.
But I got a kevlar vest ornating my chest.
Hey! Got nothing to fear right? I walk the alleys at night.
I’m a gun-toting machine, stop me if you can!
Bulletproof, gun in hand, tis this an invincible man?
But did I tell you where I’ve got most my scars?
They’re under my kevlar vest ornating my chest.
Deep and hard, some still bleeding, jagged scars.
Many bullets have hit, but few through could they get.
So now you ask, from where are those scars you mask?
Most of my scars are on my back, the sad fact:
I’m bulletproof, but the knives still go through.
Got a kevlar vest ornating my chest, might be bulletproof, but the knives still go through.
Bulletproof . . .
Story behind the poem:
I just had this impulse to write something on the topic of ‘bulletproof’ because well, it sounds really really cool! Anyway, the main theme of this poem is based on an interesting fact: bulletproof vests don’t offer much protection against knives. They’re designed to stop bullets, not knives, and believe it or not, bullets and knives work different ways. The key theme? A bulletproof vest stops bullets, but it doesn’t stop someone from being stabbed in the back (betrayed).
Bulletproof (just wanted to state it again cause it sounded so cool!)