Standing firm

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.


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