He’s not a hero — just a man with a torn-up voice. Irony’s his shield. His voice hits hard — from the throat, with grit. Somewhere between a crack and a crooked smile.
_____
They beat the shit outta me. To dust. The ref reached in, like “That’s it, lie down...”
And I was like — FU! — I stood up.
I swayed. I smiled. No teeth left, maybe — but I stood. Not for them — for me.
You in the crowd — don’t wrinkle your nose. Yeah, I look like hell, like ground meat that got a chance to speak. But listen: I stood. And I’m still standing. Which means — it mattered.
Rules? "Be smart"? "Take care of yourself"? Thanks — go tell that to someone who still believes in rules. And... go fuck yourself.
I’m one of those who stands because I don’t know how not to. Because lying down means you agree. And I — don’t agree.
Yeah, I’m no champ. But I was alive. As long as I stood.
I’m standing. I’m alive.
That’s it. Clap. Or don’t.
I already won.
