It is only a smudge on my chin,
It is the proof that I did not win.
The mark of his glove where it landed with a thud,
His hit made my face feel like crud.
I hit the floor with a slamming hit,
My mind exploding caused by his clutched mitt.
I was losing conscious and seeing stars in the mind of disperse,
I was forced into this fight, bullied by my foe, and so I put on my gloves with care.
I fought for what I thought was right,
I fought with all my abilities and all my might.
But I lost.
I am no longer the boss.
Later that day I looked at the mirror and the sight I did see,
A black eye of proportions that bruised me to my right ear.
Who has the right to hit me, to cause me so much hurt?
Who has called me a puny little patsy and a squirt?
I stood up and paid the price,
Hung up like my savior, Jesus Christ.