I’m untouchable.
People think my shadow
Has PTSD land mines.
They keep their distance,
Heads down,
Safe behind the line
Of yellow Traumatic Hazard Tape.
No one wants to get blown to hell.
Look what it did to me.
Life gave me chains
To wear on my ankles.
I broke them and made wind chimes.
They sing how the breeze doesn’t blow back
But forward.
That love always rhymes.
I have my storms.
Depressions from the Tropics
But I will shelter you. Don’t fear.
I’m shrouded in verse,
Covered in grave words.
It’s because death hurts less
Then my rebirth,
Less than understanding
That I failed the test
And burned up on re-entry.
As I rise from the flames,
Some ashes get stuck in my throat.
So, if my poems have the scent of death
Don’t worry, it’s just the smell
Of a song decomposing.
Turning into a new beat
Of a heart rearranged,
New perception imposing
Reality on Traumatic Chaos.
Go ahead. Break the yellow tape.
I will shelter you. Don’t fear.
j.w. McKinleyville 10/21/25
