water polo

my body after water polo games feels like the bruised skin of an apple
tender and swollen to touch in places where i have been kicked and dropped

after practices, i wonder every day at scratches that appear like magic across my skin
but never do i doubt whether i love what i do

playing water polo for me is an escape
a rush of high when the whistle blows and it’s just you racing to the ball and everything else melts into the meaningless pandemonium that only distracts you from your goal

there isn’t worry about how i will fare on tomorrow’s test
whether my father will be angry when i get home

time moves slower here,
every second counts

quiet literally actually,
large red numbers on a shotclockΒ counting down from 30

in these moments i live for the game
because the end is just in sight

with only the next goal, the next win
onlyΒ just a shot away


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