There is beauty and danger
in the body of a fighter,
not something of ****** desire,
but a physique and discipline to admire.

The martial artist moving fluidly
like a dancer of destruction,
finely tuned definition,
with deft and swift movements
made to disable opponents.

Self-defense,
aggressiveness,
barbaric chest beater
enemy defeater,
history maker.

The intellectual may scoff,
the poet and painter,
may laugh off,
but the dancer probably gets its,
cause she knows how to move
and not get hit.
She can see the spin in this
body that moves with
a similar flow.

I am in love
because
though I seek to exist
peacefully
there is a destructive artist
inside of me,
a caged beast
that I never let free.

A funhouse mirror man,
without a clear plan,
who adapts and improves,
takes hits and advances,
striking back in my own way