The gym was my home.
Walking with the G.O.D.S. they gave it to me as a gift.
On my first birthday I could hear my mother fighting for her life.
Hearing her screaming, the G.O.D.S. taught me how to pray.
The art class is where I learned about colors, this was my escape, the G.O.D.S. gave me this as a way out. I began to read and write.
As I studied, I learned about one God who died a bloody death, it was R.A.W., the G.O.D.S. gave me a second chance.
On my journey through the underworld, I saw suffering and pain, it was R.A.W. The G.O.D.S. taught me how to fight.
Stay with me on this journey, I’m used to being left alone; therefore, I am. The G.O.D.S told me that no one can fight my battles for me.
My mind, body, and spirit were groomed for battle. I’d become an A.N.G.E.L. of war, a victim of combat. I’d been bred to fight for my people. Taught to be a champion.
The G.O.D.S. then lead me into the arena.
I’d become a soldier of R.A.W. war and combat so I had no choice but to fight.
A sight of inspiration, a topic of discussion, a symbol of strength.
Here I stood after every battle, after every wound, patched up to heal for the next fight.
No wife, no true friends, I was born as a heathen and my ancestors were slaves.
Once labeled an adult my eyes were opened.
The rage in my heart was like a lion in the jungle. I had to heal fast or my opponents would eat me alive. One day the crowd loved me, the next they were calling for my head.
All of my life I’d been treated like an animal, I knew no mercy. Clothed in all black, I fought everyday to the death of me.
It was R.A.W.
Clashing with enemies of war, I saw blood and yearned for P.E.A.C.E.
I’d become numb, traumatized by every blow until my number was up.
Why did the G.O.D.S. put me here?
I had no way out so I didn’t question.
Having flashbacks of a life filled with pain, no one showed me what true love was.
Some nights in a R.A.W. battle they threw roses, some nights they spit and called me names.
It was like I didn’t exist unless I was in the arena.
The arena was my home.
People paid to see me in R.A.W. battle.
The more I fought, the more the crowd would cheer.
If I showed any sign of weakness, I was shown no love.
Sitting in the metal locker rooms welded from old prison steel, I rested, only to fight again the next day.
In darkness, I began to relate to this one God that suffered like me in the arena, he led me to the light.
He was crucified.
I fought, and bled for every scrap until he called me home.
He became my idle, he became my strength, I could relate to his story.
My flesh was like that of a soldier fighting for his people.
Every R.A.W. battle gave them strength.
In death, like my God, I became a G.O.D.
Great-Optimistic & Dynamic.
The thought of me kept things in motion.
In the R.A.W. battle I became:
Raged-Against-War.
The arena was my battlefield, I fought until death.
I fought for P.E.A.C.E. just like my God.
My story lived on.
F.R.E.E.D.O.M.
