It feels good, doesn’t it?
When flesh meets flesh
A moment of connection,
A follow-through,
The thud of a sack of bones
hitting the floor.
It feels good, doesn’t it?
When the bruises peek
From under my shirt,
Ill-disguised,
And you recognize
your handiwork.
It feels good, doesn’t it?
To spit words at me
Oblivious to their meaning,
Knowing only my flinch
As they hit me in succession.
And it hurts, doesn’t it?
How I stand back up,
Smile and thank you
For your words
And your blows,
And square up for more.
All I know
Is it feels good—
The rush of adrenaline
I’ve come to crave,
When flesh meets flesh.
Because I’m made for this:
to be a punching bag.
And it hurts—
The love, and the care,
Kind eyes and smiles,
And the question
Of when they’ll learn
All I deserve
are their punches.
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