Amalia Dorion
We rise with every dawn to go run,
To pound our legs against the hard cold dirt,
The air stings the sleep warmed faces and limbs,
Every step closer to bettering ourselves,
Passing warm homes where eyes still dream,
But our dreams are found on the morning jog.
Each of us running within ourselves,
Each stride gets us closer to our big dream,
Suffering through all of the grit and dirt,
Every step aches our long, pounding limbs,
We cannot be fulfilled without a run,
Daily miles upon miles of quick jog.
You call us crazy for our daily ‘jog’,
They ask “how can you be in pain and dream”,
Yet they have never felt their feet hit dirt,
The way we do through each step on our run,
They don’t know aching, pleasure in their limbs,
Each day a new and faster form of selves.
Our minds work different from those who ‘jog’,
Without a purpose, a beautiful dream,
We run for something bigger than ourselves.
To feel our body burn throughout our limbs,
Each a human soul on fire, we run.
And the new day greets us as we strike dirt.
Others don't understand our crave to run,
The obsession of this far off day dream,
To wake up and get to go out and ‘jog’.
They are not bonded with the soft, damp dirt,
The same way us runners connect ourselves.
So call us insane for this long, tough dream,
For waking up before our conscious selves,
Yearning for fiery pain through our limbs,
For the desire to stomp our legs on dirt,
Every single day, our need to run,
To feel the beauty of our body jog.
Oh! Morning run! I love and hate this dream,
This sport hurts and punishes my poor limbs,
But who am I without the art of the run?
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