The Fight- Champion of the World

We are the strongest people in the world. And yet we are the weakest. A punch to the jaw. A strike straight to the gut. Why does it matter, if he’s still standing? It’s the 21st round, and the fight keeps on going. The blows continue to rain down on your closed fists. Your face. Your back. Your people. The Liberty Bell keeps ringing, but he doesn’t stop. Injustice lifts his gloves back up, and cracks punches like whips. Beatings against protest. It’s a heavy fight, but we’re not done, no. Rise up, my arms. Hands clad together. We are the Black underdogs. Surmounting injuries that scar history’s back. Release the chains, brothers! Right jab. Left hook. Cross. We are just one person now, laid upon this wood as sacrifice. But we overcome, risen again on the third chime. The pulse does not stop now. All the suffering and all the pain, it’s in our fists now. Our revenge is relentless. This is our time now. One moment we’re fighting. The next, our arms raised, staring down at the limp body beneath us. We’ve won the fight, but the war is not over. Each of us is weak. But tonight, tonight we are strongest in the world.