self conscious

 yo…

is it ill, or is it growth?

(“that’s growth, mak — stop actin like you ain’t built for this.”)

maybe.

it just feels like the old me died,

and the new me writes like he’s been here before.


i’m seein clearer now —

and i ain’t scared of clarity no more.


fear is weakness,

i learn from what experience teaches.

my scars ain’t decorations —

they’re textbooks.

chapters.

sermons.

lessons carved into my ribs by reality.


i trust myself.

i can’t fuck myself.

(“i kept you alive when you were drowning, mak.”)

facts.

you were the one whisperin

when i had tears in the sink,

tellin me,

“stand up — this pain ain’t permanent,

but who you become from it is.”


my body is a temple,

my mind is a power.

so i been cleanin house —

throwin out the ghosts,

evictin the past,

lettin the new me take the throne

without askin permission.


(“you needed that.

five days was enough to burn a decade of softness off you.”)


yeah…

i ain’t proud of all the versions i’ve been,

but i needed each one.

the boy died —

the man arrived.

and he don’t hide from mirrors.

i stare myself down,

ask the real questions,

hear the real answers,

argue with myself,

then write the truth down anyway.


i’m self-conscious —

but not the insecure kind.

the aware kind.

the dangerous kind.

the kind that knows when to step back,

when to strike,

when to disappear,

when to rise.


it’s like i got two me’s:

the one who bleeds,

and the one who leads.

the one who feels,

and the one who thinks.

the one who broke,

and the one who rebuilt.


(“you listen to both now —

that’s why you survived this week.”)


five days.

five versions of me died,

five new ones rose.

rebirth ain’t poetic —

it’s violent,

lonely,

uncomfortable,

quiet.

it’s you facin yourself

with no distractions left.


i put the ego in the dirt.

i put the fear in the fire.

i put the hope in the heavens.

now the hunger’s what drives me.


i see the world different.

i see me different.

and for the first time,

i ain’t runnin from the man i’m becoming —

i’m runnin toward him.


self-conscious —

but self-guided.

self-aware —

but self-made.


this ain’t depression —

it’s direction.

this ain’t heartbreak —

it’s awakening.

this ain’t loss —

it’s leverage.


i’m walkin outta these five days

with a spine reinforced,

a heart recalibrated,

a mind sharpened like a blade

that remembers every hand

that tried to dull it.


and if destiny’s callin?

i hear it clearer than ever.

and if pain’s the price for clarity?

i’ll pay it with interest.


because i ain’t who i was

five days ago,

and i’ll never be him again.


you don’t see this twice.

it don’t come back.

it’s somethin you gamble

every inch of your soul for.


the biggest leap of faith.

the cleanest rebirth.

i feel like

altair.


— Mr. Mak


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