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first punch
i know i shouldn’t write a few lines
about when he made me so mad i
repeatedly punched a wall.
i know it shouldn’t have felt so good
as i winced through the pain,
all the while smiling as i did it again and
again.
i know i shouldn’t have felt so
POWERFUL
as i stood there focusing on the pain and
anger.
i know i shouldn’t text a friend
asking him how to properly throw a punch.
i know i shouldn’t have done that as i sit and
watch the inflammation die down.
i don’t want anyone to know,
so i’m good at hiding it.
i know i shouldn’t want to do it again as i sit with
an ice pack on the reddish-purple bruising.
the cold feels good.
i feel good.
strong, powerful, free.
i know i shouldn’t want to do it again as i wrap
my hands with what look like mini scrunchies.
i’ve never thrown an actual punch in my life.
just because i know i shouldn’t do it again,
that doesn’t mean i
won’t.
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