bEAten

In games you always

must final

loss, but 

does or doesn’t

should define us

not:

for the loss itself

is not the losing

we must go ahead and fight

in bruising

but not to lose with head

held high: that is

what I shrug off hard.

And I know I have

lost so very

much life and 

thrives and

even minimum

survives, but – 

inevitable as this

bedoes and

bemakes – I swear 

as life is so

dark as now my head 

will never

bow: never I say.

I am proud of my 

love of truth

as I see,

and life as I be,

and confusion 

as I dye the colours 

of my doing and

understanding and perhaps

my overstating too.

And I know yous have

hurt me and I know

yous still fail to compre

appre

HEND me still, 

and I know I have

a value strange and weird

and maybe mad, yer 

know.

But if the whirled contains

now no space for

brainy difference like

my curious own, then sorry

state is this sad rock, as

bad as any gruelling

session unjustly held 

during early morn 

in fixed up

hurt by

cruelty sworn and hidden

from all public sight, and

only known through 

private violence

you do commit on

my fragile 

TRAGICK.

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