Concrete Academic

I’m verbally pugilistic.
And tho’ you may not dig me at first, I grow on you like something cystic.
I’m not being narcissistic,
But for you to try and out-word me, that’s like a mortal tryna battle a mystic.
This ain’t gon’ go 12 rounds of 3 . . . you’d just end up paying defeat a visit.
For you to keep comin’ at me is just painful and sadistic
Even a step beyond that, it’s sadomasochistic.
How can I draw this analogy out—put it in terms you won’t find so cryptic?
If you don’t wanna keep kissin’ the mat and seein’ your phrases smeared like lipstick,
Then you need to go back to your corner, throw in the towel or maybe try a bit more training—that might help you fix it.
But until then, you just can’t compete; you just stand there lookin’ like “what is it?”
This brutal honesty is for your own good—you been outclassed—and it’s time for the literary welterweights to give it up and be realistic.