Barbell

There’s nothing quite like the smell
Of the gym’s weight room at 12:10 on a Tuesday night,
Sweat rolling off in torrential waves as worries
wander away into the air vents.

 

There’s nothing quite like that feeling
Of strapping my feet into athletic shoes like my Nikes are corsets
Of floating across those worn black mats with all the grace of the ballerina I never was

 

There’s nothing quite like the blissful blankness
Of the bottoming out of a bombination as the barbell battles bargaining
Just three more, just two more, last one, push

 

There’s nothing quite like that bounce
Of weights hitting the ground with a
Rattle like my asthmatic breathing
And in that moment, I’m Atlas

 

But I’ve thrown the world off my shoulders,
Finally standing tall,
Shoulders back,
Face red, 

 

Breathless, breathless, breathless
Breathless, but alive. 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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