school the teachers

there’s a point in evolution

where you stop asking questions

because your eyes already answered them.


i didn’t wake up arrogant.

i woke up observant.


and once you see it,

you can’t unsee it.


the posture.

the borrowed confidence.

the recycled philosophies

passed down like heirlooms

by men who never built anything of their own.


they taught for years

but never learned past themselves.


they wore authority like armor

because without it

there was nothing underneath.


i respected them once.

that’s the part that stings.


i listened.

i absorbed.

i gave them my attention

before i realized

they were living off reflections

of who they used to be.


no identity.

just reputation fumes.


no vision.

just nostalgia disguised as wisdom.


no depth.

just ego.


my eyes stripped them to the bone.

and what was left

was disappointing.


men who confuse being older

with being evolved.

men who mistake titles

for substance.

men who demand respect

because they’ve never earned presence.


they don’t teach anymore.

they repeat.


they don’t lead.

they maintain.


they don’t challenge truth.

they protect comfort.


and that’s when the hierarchy flipped.


quietly.


i read this law once:

never outshine your superiors.


but what’s the law

for when your presence

makes them insecure?


what’s the rule

for when leadership isn’t taken

but recognized?


when people follow your calm

without you raising your voice.


when my leadership is revered

because i’m a man of the people—

not appointed,

not decorated,

not protected by a title.


that’s when they panic.


because you can’t discipline

what you can’t dominate.

you can’t silence

what doesn’t seek approval.


and that’s when the hierarchy flipped.


quietly.


i can count the people i respect

on my fingers.

the rest?

i neglect.


i don’t bow to frauds.

i don’t shrink for men

whose egos collapse

the moment they’re not obeyed.


i’d rather die

than live inside disrespect.

especially the kind

that wears a smile

and calls itself mentorship.


real teachers don’t feel threatened

when the student surpasses them.

frauds do.


and the moment they sense it?

they reach for power plays,

public lessons,

crowds,

theatrics.


anything

but truth.


this isn’t rebellion.

this is graduation.


the day you realize

some teachers were only placeholders

until your eyes learned

how to see.


it’s funny

how they’re gripping

whatever throne they think

they sit on.


imaginary crowns,

eyez locked on me 

like i’m coming

for their spot.


but why would i want that?

i already sit at the top.


— Mr. Mak










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