I rise from my bed,
body aching and cracking.
They say I'm too young to feel this way.
But I do.
They are unaware of the jabs and low blows
that life has thrown at me.
I tell myself as I limp over to the coffee pot.
I chug a cup and gain my composure
before hearing the words, "round 6918"
and the ding of the bell.
I walk out of my apartment swinging,
hoping to hit a sweet spot.
(6918 is the number of days I've been alive.)