Old Soul, New Body

i came here with memory in my bones.

not the kind you learn —

the kind you remember.

something ancient dressed in skin that’s barely lived a quarter of a century.

they look at me and see youth.

i look in the mirror and see centuries.

the weight of a thousand lessons carried by a voice that still cracks sometimes.

wisdom wearing nike sneakers, patience in a hoodie.

i don’t rush anymore.

i’ve already seen how everything ends.

empires, friendships, phases —

they all burn, rebuild, repeat.

so i learned to walk like a monk in a marketplace,

still but seeing everything.

some call it maturity.

it’s not that.

it’s memory.

it’s knowing the game before they hand you the controller.

it’s smiling when people try to test you,

because you’ve already passed harder ones in silence.

i speak less now —

not ‘cause i have nothing to say,

but because i finally understand the power of pause.

the pause is where God edits the script.

my soul’s been here before —

on battlefields, in temples, under neon lights —

each time learning a different form of love,

a different shape of loss.

this time, i came to live it smooth.

to taste peace in chaos,

to build what my past lives couldn’t finish.

to teach without preaching.

to move without announcing.

call it what you want —

intuition, memory, frequency —

but i know what i am.

an old soul,

reborn in a new body,

writing the same story

with a better ending.

— Mr. Mak