They say that weakness is pain leaving the body.
Or was it the the other way around? For me, it works. I feel so strong in that cramped little gym in my apartment. Nothing else can fit in there but me and the sweat. Me and the steel. Me and the stink.
He isn't there. She isn't, either. None of them are. Just me and the pain.
Some people drink. Others cheat and steal and lie. A few cut themselves, and others still find the solutions no one can solve. Me, I hurt. I burn. I grow.
I can run a 9-minute mile on a treadmill. I can bench press half again my body weight, squat closer to double. I have excellent flexibility and a mean right hook.
I have scars on my feet from the blisters I refused to let heal. Some nights I've cried from the tears deep in my body – they were more honest ears, cried as I kept pushing.
I have the willpower of a god, or of a mother giving birth. Pain doesn't have no meaning – it is meaning to me.
If it doesn't hurt, then I'm not getting strong. Not getting better.
If I doesn't hurt, it's just numb.
They say that pain is weakness leaving the body.
They're so very wrong. Can't they see how perfect my body has become?
How perfect I've become. Some days I sleep in that little gym. No one else ever comes by anymore.
No one else can compare.
It's good. Made me think.
ReplyDeleteThough, because of the early morning time, you forgot yesterday's. :P
Prompt: One ring to rule them all. Waiting to prove you're not alone. One ring along the wall. Miss it and you're falling prone.
[Sorry, got a few ring things on the brain. But it rhymes!!]