Repeatedly, a blow is struck

In different ways; Either a word

(as a punch) or an evil stare

(as a stab). Bruises invisible

except on the inside of her frail

soul. . . Yet still she walks.

Facades are infinite as she chooses.

Hold a smile to trick the enemy.

For that is what he did to her:

The tragedy of trickery. He broke

her heart and made her numb. . .

Yet still she continues on.

Each battle within the war

has not cost any lives but her own.

Moods are no longer happy after

each argument, each blow that

strikes the only feeling she has

left: Hope. Hope is what keeps

her going. . .Yet still the effects

of past battles linger.

Despite each blow, she continues.

Each bomb of rage with a lit fuse

of hatred goes off inside her,

absorbed by each thought of

‘It’s okay’ or ‘I’m going to be

alright’ with a smile.

Simply put—her body is numb, her spirit broken,

Yet Here She Stands.