bruised knuckles
blood, sweat, and tears
blood; running down my jaw
sweat; across my forehead
tears; running down my cheek
no pain, no gain!
the burn
of lactic acid
building up in my muscles
one more mile; one more kick
curses flying out of my mouth
take a sip of water
and continue fighting
don't you dare give up
work hard; ain't nobody gonna do it for you
fuck you if you tell me that I won't win
who said I won't?
about to throw up
put in that last bit of effort
achieve your goals
even if they kill you
"fight until you either win, die, or pass out"
and I haven't died yet
and I'm still conscious
so I guess, I guess I'm winning.
YOU ARE READING
Gypsy
Poetrya poetry collection "Gypsy souls aren't meant to stay in one place; they're meant to wander. I got tired, bored, and depressed in the place that I was at. Change was the only option. So I packed up my soul in a suitcase and left."
