The scars on his knuckles match the scars on his uncle’s.
It’s family tradition by now, predisposed in his DNA.
He was made for the ring, but lives for the drink.
He may climb his ladder, but further he will sink.
Just a white boy on 7th Street named Ronnie.
With red hair and pale skin, he doesn’t fit in.
He lives in a segregated neighborhood,
Growing up as no boy should.
Trained at a young age to like the taste of blood,
Not by choice, not by family.
A wall of loud and young flesh surrounds.
While the size of his opponent confounds.
Such is creation.
We are all but small children,
Facing the problem of impossiblity.
While slowly realizing our mortality.
Primitive Poetry 
Donot be afraid of scum bags .
Thats why my , all my fam tacts are : IGNORE the scum bags ! All theirs calls & everything. No contacts needed at all.
No need change of numbers at all . Let me writes my post later .
Remember 1st at beginning met , i told , fear = false evidence appearing real.
I learnt : IGNORE THEM ALL SCUM BAGS. CARRY ON , BE WITH DARVER BACK. NO FEAR.
I DONOT RESPONSE TO THEM ALL AT ALL SINCE THE ” STORY” 10YEARS AGO OF THEM = LIARS & CHEATERS. NO NEED FEAR = AM THE ONE WHO DONOT CARE ABOUT THEM ALL = WITH NO RESPONSE AT ALL. OK.
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Oooopps !!! ” sorry ” . Wrong comments pressed sent to wrong site of posts .
Am supposed to go ” emails . ” but instead. Mispressed. Tq.
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