lonely at the top

i know for me to climb to the top,

i have to witness my idols

get knocked off the mountain first.


i’m only 25.

my reign hasn’t begun,

and i’m already measuring my fall.


i remember watching from the fence—

older kids running the slides the wrong way,

hanging upside down from monkey bars,

moving like time was endless.


i waited my turn.

dreamed of the day

i’d finally be let outside.


and when it came,

the playground was empty.


they didn’t lose the game.

they just left it.


pockets too grown.

love diluted into club champagne and women—

noise where meaning used to be.


every day i grow,

i feel this longing—

to replicate this with my brothers.


but then the days hit.

i see them stuck in the same places,

running out of patience,

out of complacence.


it hurts

to not see them with me.


maybe it wasn’t even them.

maybe it’s really me that changed.


damn.

it wasn’t even them.

it’s me that’s changed.


i see myself at the pearly gates,

every choice tilting the scale—

one step closer to the abyss,

my falloff already priced in.


i won’t always be this young,

this sharp,

this intact.


that’s why

when strays fly,

i stay calm.


deep down,

pain is the bond that separates

contenders from heirs.


they say the lord’s timing is divine.

i walk with him.

that explains mine.


i’m not worried about how they respond.

i’m worried about how high i could climb

once there’s no one left to play with.


i’m afraid of poverty.

i’m afraid of death.

so i write

like every breath matters.


i thought i understood the phrase “it’s lonely at the top”

until the climb began

and the people i once looked up to

started to drop.


— Mr. Mak

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