Extending myself to freely absorb every blow you can bestow…


I may grimace, groan, become weary, vision blurred, speech slurred.

Bloody, swollen, battered


My knees will never bend, you, the antonym of friend.

I defy your presence, rebuke the illusion of power that you hold and I…





dour mixture of

blood, sweat and tears incurred

from your savage tenacity,

I freely give back what you have tendered





down your face

literally, esoterically

daring you to wipe it aside as

I will not be denied

by you.


Writer, poet, possessor of 2 cents, blogger, recovering corporate animal and eternal student of life, who harbors a firm belief in his Grandmother's mantra that: "People need to get off of their rump and do something". All while keeping in mind that a cheering section will only get in the way.

2 Comment on “Staring down the Bully

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