Behind the eyes.
Behind the tears.
Behind the present moment.
In front of you
Will be seen, a fighter
Scrapes, bruises, gashes, scars
Sometimes melting through their skin,
Covering the soul.
Other times,
The world is unaware.
The fighter comes in many forms
Lines trace their skin.
A map of their story.
Perhaps a wrinkle in time
Or red dots placed where they are
Maybe scars showing a beaten trail of memories
A fighter may look weak from the outside,
Facing the inevitable daily.
Fears surround them,
Mocking their every breath.
Yet, a fire stirs them.
An otherworldly strength.
Pressing on, a fighter moves forward.
They never see their progress.
In faith,
Taking small steps,
A fighter survives what was meant to crush them.
In their weakness, is strength.
– Julia Grace
Midnight's Aria 