Home > prose and poetry > (he’s a) bedroom boxing champion.

(he’s a) bedroom boxing champion.

You could read this two ways. Literally, it’s about domestic violence, which is the main thing that sparked me to write it in the first place. I’m very much against it, but I decided not to bring that whole message into the poem as I felt it’d drag it down. But it could also be read as a metaphor for all the people who are being kept down by other people. And, perhaps, as a metaphor for how I keep beating myself up all of the time.


blows, blows, blows, blows,
blows to the body, blows to the soul,
blows, blows, blows, blows,
blood on his knuckles, blood on her clothes.
blows, blows, blows, blows,
realized too late that his heart was black as coal,
blows, blows, blows, blows,
more bruises on her body, how’ll she explain those?

pain, pain, pain, pain,
she’s feeling it again,
pain, pain, pain, pain,
nothing else in her head
except the pain, pain, pain, pain.

and how’ll she get out?
she doesn’t know.

so he continues,
blow after blow after blow after blow.

Categories: prose and poetry
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