There is a quiet beauty
in those souls society has deemed 'not enough'.
A beauty that glows in the eyes,
pooled with the depth of pain—
a soul that was wounded,
but never broken.
The world sees only their quiet treading.
But I see—
a warrior in rest.
Where can you go
when your mind is the battleground?
Not of ideas,
but of your very existence—
when the judge,
the jury,
and the executioner
all live within.
Does society not see?
No flesh could ever contain
such a fearless warrior,
hiding in themselves
from
themselves
just to walk among us,
mere mortals.
Sep 29, 2025
Sep 29, 2025 at 3:49 PM UTC
There is a quiet beauty
in those souls society has deemed 'not enough'.
A beauty that glows in the eyes,
pooled with the depth of pain—
a soul that was wounded,
but never broken.
The world sees only their quiet treading.
But I see—
a warrior in rest.
Where can you go
when your mind is the battleground?
Not of ideas,
but of your very existence—
when the judge,
the jury,
and the executioner
all live within.
Does society not see?
No flesh could ever contain
such a fearless warrior,
hiding in themselves
from
themselves
just to walk among us,
mere mortals.
This poem is for the quiet fighters, the ones who have made a home in the battleground of their own mind. You are seen🫂