I take my relentless beating in a no longer sacred place.
They spit on my immobile body, on my unrecognizable face.
Sweat drools down my temple. Nothing but my own blood is all I taste.
I have no fight left in me, as it is with every challenge I’ve faced.
I dodged all I could manage, until I was shoved straight down to the floor.
I fear that I would not have made it if I had to have endured even more.
So much time was wasted; beating someone that was half their size.
That could’ve been the end of me, with no time for empty goodbyes.
It does give you some perspective though, being beaten to the ground.
That you’ll never see the upsides if you’re always looking down.
But once you get down that low, stop for a moment and raise your eyes
You might just see some kind of hero, even a miracle, to help you begin to rise...
...higher than before