I M Possible.

In the left, towering at 6’11

The 230 pound, monster of steel.

Its muscles ripple as he lifts his arms.

Biceps cut from rock, guns locked, loaded,

Ready to kill. Tell Bush to forget Iraq and Saddam,

Those WMDs are here.

He struts and flexes, the greased body

Glimmers under the spotlight.

And in the right, cowering at 5’6

Weighing 140 pounds – is me.

I’m a dead man. It’s only a matter of time.

The crowd doesn’t cheer.

Not a sound, or stir – just silence.

My body isn’t perfect, not much to gaze at.

No chiseled pecs, defined abs or amazing biceps.

In the glory of my imperfections, I stand,

Ready to fight.

The bell rings, I take a deep breath.

He jabs, I duck, nearly miss his punch to my face.

He sneers, the crowd chants his many names.

Cheering on “Impossible,” rooting for “Its too Hard,”

I slide out of the way as “Give Up” throws a left hook.

But I’m tired, sweating, panting.

I slip and “Unachievable” connects with my face.

Blood in my mouth. I’m stunned and stagger.

He turns, comes again, throws a punch. Ribs crack.

Feel the pain jut through me.

The burn cut through me.

I’m down.

Ears ringing, blood pouring, Too weak to go on.

Too slow.

Too small.

Too unskilled, untrained, and underweight.

I can’t do this.

I want to give up. I gaze at my killer.

“Unattainable,” stands before me.

But I’m seeing things differently. He’s only human.

He breathes, bleeds, sweats and cries.

He’s not a god or superhuman.

I m possible. It is attainable. Life is hard, But can’t give up.

I don’t move mountains, I shatter them. My strength – unparralled.

I stand, my head at his chest and raise my hands.

Ready to fight, ready to win.

I M Possible.

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