Strength, they say, is a person.

A being whose body bursts with a raw power-

A dizzying draught of liquid fire

In veins choking against taught skin.

Strength is the confidence born from conquest

The knowledge that neither the heaviest burden nor the greatest excruciating labor

Can hold you down, for your body will triumph

Through any physical challenge that barrels its way.

Strength is the bulging of muscles as they strain,

The musk of sweat as a body is stretched to its limits and forced beyond.

The drone of a voice blankly counting repetitions,

The picture of a perfect body sculpted by the skilled artist.

Strength, I say, is the person.

The person who fights the careless wave of a society,

Forging a path that may or may not be swallowed by the masses,

A trail built by a determined soul

Brave enough to stray from the battered road.

Strength is the person who is stranded in a consuming abyss

Who cries bitter tears as life tries to shred them apart

But still decids to climb out of their tortured pit

To stand up to their woes and pains.

Strength is the person who sees their own darkness

And decideds not to wallow and pursue their faults.

That dares to work and mine away through the rough

To finally reach the brilliant diamond beneath.

Strength is not the body, but the master of it.

Strength is looking to the heart

Rather than the belligerent mind.

Strength is in all of us , if we are ready and willing to claim it.