Fragility Against Prowess

Having been strong was a practical tool to battle those adversities that taunted me more than classmates' games and mischiefs; I hardly fall for anything other than candid affection, admitting my fragilities is humble: I don't declare nobility and excessive riches. If this vulnerability can be defined as the Achille's Heel, then it must fit me so perfectly; I won't be happy until I see many happy faces, hands full of gifts and tears of gratitude: nothing can be claimed as mine showing a greedy attitude. I'm fully clothed and not relying on the usual consuetude, and its rules of either poverty or nobility concessively. I've been punched hard and still standing up, my knees never bent a speck or made me quickly fall face-down; if giving in is a definition of weakness mine never was a declaration of defeat unless morality seeped into this brain and I became as frail as a helpless bird being shot by hunters. The insolent are unable to understand fragility against prowess, everything is taken away from them, being been stripped of all power... what they are left with is uncertainty to guide them through the chaos, chanting and despairing in the valley of eternal hopelessness; think like I do: withness all the horrors without pulling a hair.