I wasn’t built from easy days, I’ll admit,
life took one look at me and said,
yeah, he can have all of it.
Left school with bugger all,
no grades, no grand plan,
just a head full of noise
and the job of being a man.
So I grafted in warehouses,
taught lessons, moved loads,
had bills sat waiting at home
while I dragged weight down roads.
I won custody in 2013,
no film scene, no applause,
just stress, forms, late nights,
and fighting for my cause.
A single dad with doubts,
trying not to let them show,
raising kids while learning things
I was meant to already know.
I’ve had my body turn on me,
nearly lost a leg one year,
then ops and complications
and hospital ceilings near.
Lost my mum to cancer,
lost my brother too,
to the sort of pain you miss
until there’s nothing left to do.
And I’d love to say I coped,
like some strong and steady bloke,
but most days I went quiet,
then hid the hurt with a joke.
That’s me though, isn’t it?
Laugh first, break later,
act like I’m fine at two,
then lose the plot at three
arguing with my head
like it owes me something true.
The gym gets what people don’t,
the bits I never say,
black walls, green lights,
iron plates on a bad day.
Chalk dust on my hands,
old anger in my chest,
one more rep for the thoughts
that never let me rest.
Diesel stands there proud,
like he knows I’m not quite right,
Eddie’s causing chaos
with his rope toy every night.
That’s home, that’s my madness,
dog hair, graft and pride,
bad jokes on the outside,
heavy stuff inside.
So when I walk those miles,
it’s not for claps or praise,
I’m not after pity,
I’d only dodge it anyway.
It’s for my brother,
because he should still be here,
and too many blokes say “I’m fine”
then slowly disappear.
I know that tired smile,
I’ve worn it like a mask,
the laugh that says “I’m sound”
when someone’s too scared to ask.
I’m not some perfect hero,
I’m stubborn, rough and flawed,
I’ve just learned when life kicks off,
you don’t always need a sword.
Sometimes you just stand there,
half broken, still in place,
with a stupid little grin
and the world in your face.
I’ve been hit more than once,
and yeah, some punches landed,
but I’m still stood here somehow,
tired, mouthy, and empty handed.