The Prized Fighter

this is a poem of standing

Prized fighter

 

They say he’s a winner

Because he ties his own shoes since elementary school

And he has to stand on his own ground when he says something

But really he feels like a loser inside

They say he’s okay because he’s got a home and a roof over his head

But really he feels like sometimes he’s better off dead

They’ll call him the man who can do something with his life

If only he can overcome some of the things he’s going through

And he tries, believe me, he tries

I watch him lay in bed night after night

The sweat from his run still falling from him

And he’s all tired and out of breath

Saying just one more chance and maybe I’ll get it right this time

But I tell him to lay the gloves down he has to rest

Because tomorrow the man will get up early as he can

Just to get up early as he can

And do the best that he can.

 

But the worse of it all, he tells me he doesn’t know if he’s doing enough

And I don’t know either

Because he’s pushing himself, maybe or maybe not hard enough

But no matter what he falls in bed every night

Thinking, if only, if only another chance could rise.

Then, then maybe then, maybe then I’d get it right.