The Fight Within

I’ve thrown fists at the world,
but the worst blows
were always the ones I aimed at myself.

There have been a war under my skin
loud, stubborn,
a rhythm I can’t march away from.

Some nights I stand my ground,
other nights
the bottle wins before I even take the cap off.

I have been drinking to silence the voice
that tells me I’m not enough,
only to hear it louder
through the bottom of the glass.

Strength isn’t in the shouting
or in pretending I’m unbreakable.
Strength is in admitting
that some battles are fought in the dark,
alone, where no one sees how many times you fall.

But still.
I get up.

Even when my hands shake,
even when regret feels heavier than pride,
I rise one more time
because the fight within
is the only one worth winning.

And maybe one day
I’ll look in the mirror
and the man staring back
won’t be an enemy
but someone I finally recognize
as me.