A/N: I wrote this one last May. This is the first poem I recited at an actual poetry slam instead of just in front of my class!

You told me you wanted to train me.
I accepted.
This training is important to me,
As I know these skills will be important in my life.

As you train me in your ways of combat,
Showing me how to form the perfect punch,
How to hit in just the right spot,
How to knock your opponent down with a single kick,
I lap it up eagerly, ready to try it.

We get into sparring position,
And I watch you intently,
Wondering how you will strike first.
But before I can even adjust my feet,
You've knocked me down
And I'm on the ground, winded.

I know I can do this;
I want to try one of those moves you taught me.
But I can't.
You know why?
Because you just won't stop hitting me.

I'm trying to get to my feet,
But your kicks swamp my efforts,
And I can't get up.
Maybe I should just lie here on the ground
And not even bother.
But each strike sends a shower of pain over me
And I can't just do nothing
And maybe even be killed.

With each strike, I can hear your screaming:
"Why aren't you fighting back?"
"Punch harder!"
"Weak child!"
"Are you even trying?"
"Why don't you try that kick I showed you?"
"You're so slow!"

And through my struggled haze,
I can't even muster up the words to say
That I don't have much of a chance
Of being able to fight back
If you don't fricking let me get back on my feet
Before pounding me into the ground.

So, school,
Before you beat the crap out of me,
Please let me get back on my feet first
And don't kick me when I'm down,
Thanks.