I’ve got myself cornered in a boxing ring,
throwing punches at inevitability, letting
each mistake sting, getting more worked up
with every punch. I am so flexible: it is so easy
to kick myself when I am down but, as I lie
in the puddle of my own self-doubt, looking
at the skin I have torn,
the heart I have burnt,
the hair I have pulled,
all through bloodshot eyes,
I try to pretend that I am done.
I don’t want to fight anymore.
Hope says it’s time to forgive.
I’ve always been able to do it so easily,
I have been weaving a cape of naivety
for aeons but maybe I should blame
someone else for once and just forgive myself.
Needs editing but I’m in a rush.