Correcting The Evil That Men Do

No one is indestructible, no one,

when you come at me with your attitude

my instinct is to punch you in the throat,

I want you to see your mortality,

like the time when you threw your knife at me

and I caught it, tossing it back to you,

the sound the handle made when it hit you,

the sound your head made when it hit concrete,

the sound of the crowd as it cheered me on,

the sound of your mewling as I drew near,

the sound of my voice as I warned you last,

or the time you surrounded me, your friends

bringing me to my knees and I faced you

unblinkingly, challenging you to fight,

calmly calling you coward, scaring you,

controlling the situation, your friends

calling you to the center of the ring,

bringing you to your knees after one blow,

none of us are indestructible, none,

you just have not learned that lesson—as yet.