- Books, Literature, and Writing
The Fighter (poem)
The hairs of my arms standing up
My veins seemingly filled with ice water
Almost there now, trying not to strut
Scanning the crowd, trying to spot her.
Can’t get my hands to stop shaking
Nearly a hundred have gathered to see
The spectacle of violence we will be making
A battle of fist and bone, just him . . . and me
Trying to remember how or why this began
Something he said, something hurtful and wrong
Hearing ridicule in my head, what would they say if I ran?
Can’t back out now, have to stand up and be strong
As I come around the corner, I see him standing in wait.
My heart won’t stop thumping.
Striding towards him with no hesitation
His fists are up, he’s ready to go
An instant release of my anger and frustration
A resounding crack as we move to and fro
A glance at my hand I see it is broken.
Pain surging through, fighting back a tear
Of this day I will have a lifelong token
Bright flashes of pain, darkness grows near
My entire world won’t stop turning
A punch and a kick, and we’re on the ground
Jostling for position he grabs hold of my hair
I can see fear in his eyes, his hesitant glare
Pressing my thumb right into his eye
Out loud he yelps and begins to cry
An elbow falls across the bridge of his nose
His eyes roll back and the rest of him froze
I stand up victorious, my heart beating so fast
Relishing the moment, knowing it certainly won’t last
Taking in the boisterous crowd as they jump and cheer
Letting the adrenaline pump, feeding off the fear
The rest of that week seemed just a little brighter
Enjoying the pain and glory of being a fighter