Strength doesn’t come dressed in brass,
it doesn’t blare trumpets in the alley,
nor stomp heavy boots over cracked streets.
It comes as a whisper in the dark,
a shadow that refuses to collapse,
a hand gripping the edge of nothing.
Sometimes it\'s just waking up anyway,
dragging the body into another hour,
another damn unmarked, unholy day.
You don’t feel brave doing the dishes,
don’t hear applause for paying bills late,
but there it is—
the quiet defiance of persistence.
It doesn’t wear capes or crowns,
but a tattered coat of repetition,
a scar peeled back but unbroken.
Whatever comes, the heart still beats,
quiet, stubborn, punching inside.
That’s all strength ever needs—
to not quit.