Rugby, My Heart. Poem by Zoe Elizabeth

The field was soaked, mud up to my shins.
Rain in my face, can't see a thing,
but I don't care — I live for this.
For the hit, the chase, the sting.

My hands still shake from that last run.
Ball slipped twice, then stuck — I spun,
heard my name, then nothing but noise,
a blur of jerseys, shouts, and joy.

We bled a bit, we swore a lot,
laughed through the pain, gave all we've got.
No crowd, no lights — just us out there,
mud in our teeth, knots in our hair.

People ask why we play this game.
I just shrug — it's hard to explain.
It's the moment you stand when you can't,
the sound of your heart still fighting back.

And yeah, I'm sore, I'll bruise by ten,
but I'd do it all tomorrow, again.
Because this game — this muddy mess —
is where I feel the most like me, I guess.