Lessons to the Face

A Poem about Power, Blood, and Holding Back

What starts as a sparring match turns into a lesson I didn’t ask for. This poem is about strength, discomfort, and what it means to hold your own- bleeding.

Lessons to the Face
By Shayne Buchwald-Nickoles

This was on purpose.
Partnered up for their amusement.
You looked at me apologetically.
I looked at you,
smiled,
nodded my understanding.

They couldn’t possibly pair me
with another woman —
that’s not real life.

They gave me you.
Six-foot-five.
All muscle.
A gentle giant.

Eyes followed us.
Some pitied.
None laughed.
Mismatch.
Meant to humiliate me.

There’s no way I’ll come out unscathed.
But I will be stronger.

You throw the first punch —
I block it.
You were holding back.

I jabbed.
You blocked,
then pressed
my forehead back
with your glove —
a casual dismissal,
unmeant insult.

We hear her voice:
“This is supposed to be sixty percent effort.
You’re at ten.”

I surged forward —
jab at your arm,
the only thing I can reach.

You jab.
I shield my face.
You look so uncomfortable.

I lower my gloves —
go to hook right —
but your left jab
finds my lip.
It splits.

Blood.

You look horrified.

She calls the spar.

She looks at me,
asks if I need medical,
a band-aid.

I shake my head.
Wipe my lip.

We stare at each other.

I consider laughing
at her insecurity.
But instead —
I look at the horror
on your face.

You — an unwitting pawn
in the instructor’s
game of dominance.

I felt sorry for you.

So I turned to her.
Lip bleeding,
eye steady,
and asked —
calm as steel:

“Who won?”

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Read this and more on Medium →Shayne Buchwald-Nickoles – Medium

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