Forced under the thickest air,
In a 180 degree atmosphere,
The heat spins, much more than my mind,
My mentality boils with the time.
Under the habit, I’m forced to the floor,
Both hands extend to strengthen my core,
Gravity aids me to descend further,
But to ascend, it becomes a bone hurter.
Under three ways, I make the 180,
Sixty each, I break sweats like I’m crazy,
The panting of my breath, the only sound,
180 times, I push my pain into the ground.
And if my legs would work to use my feet,
They rise and fall, stomping concrete,
Then when I am at the end of the rigid track,
180 degrees to make my way back.
I know now that no distraction
Can hinder the force of my dedication,
My self love has increased in many ways,
180 ways, I rise towards grace.