Down But Not Out

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. "Keep fighting." 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.)