Thowers Life

From the smell of the weight room leather,

to the dirt stain on my cheek,

I practce the hardest and grunt the loudest,

I am a thrower.

Both strong metal ball, disc, technique, and my strength.

The power group, it is just not right if one is missing.

The big eye squinting smile on my face,

only to show off the gold clinging metals around my neck.

I have passion for what I do, throwg is my life.

I am a thrower.

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This poem is about: 
Me

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