Sore, Raw and Ugly


The burn of my lungs and my legs,

I love.

The soreness of my feet and shins,

I gratefully embrace.

I work until my hands and feet become raw and bloody.

The sensation gives me pride,

for I know I am becoming stronger.

I run with the fools and the dogs.

We grow tired, dirty, bloody and sweaty.

We happily do so.

When we become Sore…

When we become Raw…

This is when I find myself beautiful.

When I know who I am.

When we are Ugly.

This poem is about: 
My community


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