“the dichotomy of how weak and how strong it feels to play as heavy in team fortress 2”

Beneath a hail of rockets, shells, and flame,  
The Heavy lumbers—tower, wall, and beast—  
A mountain crowned with Sasha’s whirring name,  
Yet soft within, where fretful doubts are leased.  

His minigun’s a chorus, iron-voiced;  
A thousand pounds of fury, lead and pride,  
While medics trail with needles, doctors hoist  
His spirit up, a team’s thick-plated guide.

But in the charge, a click—a fatal jam,  
Or lurking Spy’s cold touch against his back—  
He feels the softest ache, a fragile man  
Inside the shell, heart trembling for attack.

Colossal hands that cradle sandwich bread,  
He shares with friends, and memories unfurled,  
A gentle laugh, a mind no foe should dread,  
But must—he is both child and war-strong world.

So is it strength to block a payload’s path,  
Or weakness, when he stumbles, slow and bare?  
It is both—power wrapped in mortal math:  
The Heavy’s heart, a fortress and a prayer.

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