Lone Wolf

i’ve always felt
like an only child.


my sister felt more
like a mother.


less of a brother—


’cause damn,
i wasn’t always there.


not for the days
of pain and rain.


not for the moments
where life felt heavy
before i learned
how to carry my own.


and maybe
that’s the part
that still sits with me.


the guilt.


the distance.


the knowing.


but sacrifice?


sacrifice was the bet
that something could remain.


that one day
the grey skies
would finally look golden.


—


i spent most of my life
in a huddle
by myself.


mind loud.


vision louder.


never been the type
to accept
what people tell me i am
without a rebuttal.


you tell me limitation—


i see negotiation.


you tell me impossible—


i start getting curious.


accepting a ceiling
always felt like blasphemy.


like disrespect
to whatever in me
kept saying:


keep going.


—


i think of a team.


i think of support.


brotherhood.


belief.


the type of shit
that feels real
when the dream
is still fragile.


but lately—


i’ve been questioning
the meaning
of things
i once gave names to.


because damn.


i just released
my second book.


and silence?


silence is loud.


congratulations come quick,
then fade,


like moments
people check off
before returning
to regular programming.


and i’m not saying
i need applause.


i’m saying—


don’t interrupt my stride
talking belief
if the foundation
ain’t there.


don’t say
you see the vision
if you’re only watching
from the sidelines,


waiting for proof.


—


none of my guys
shared it.


and maybe
that sounds small.


but small things
say big things.


especially
when somebody
is building something
bigger than themselves.


these are the days
where it matters.


before the lights.


before the interviews.


before the city
knows the name.


because everybody
gon’ repost
when the algorithm
does the introducing.


everybody loves the story
once the ending
is already written.


everybody gon’ say,
“that’s my guy,”


when my face
hits your main feed.


when the rooms get bigger.


when the numbers get louder.


when belief
becomes convenient.


but these?


these are the chapters
that count.


the hunt.


the cold.


the quiet.


the days
where faith
actually costs something.


belief is expensive
when the proof
is still invisible.


—


and maybe
they don’t get
the foundation
of what i am.


maybe they don’t understand
what this takes.


the nights.


the pressure.


the obsession.


the weight
of betting on yourself
when nobody else
can see
what you see.


but funny thing—


i still see
a bigger picture
that includes all of them.


glass clinks.


loud laughs.


families eating good.


the type of peace
that finally makes
the struggle
look worth it.


because love didn’t leave.


it never did.


but belief?


belief got quiet.


and that
“i believed in you first” shit—


don’t carry weight


if your belief


stopped moving


when i did.


you don’t get


lifetime credit


for seeing the origin


if you went missing


during the becoming.


time passed.


i changed.


the work got heavier.


the vision got bigger.


and if your faith


is still attached


to who i used to be—


then you don’t believe


in me now.


you believe


in a memory


you can claim.


and that doesn’t pass.


not anymore.


—


and truth is—


at this point in time,
it’s really been
me


and only a couple
i can count
on one hand.


the rest?


i don’t know.


maybe they’re waiting.


maybe they’re scared.


maybe my dream
is too strange
to believe in
before the world
gives permission.


some men
need a crowd
to believe.


i needed distance.


—


but i’m a lone wolf.


always have been.


i love my team.


but the hunt?


the hunt has been mine.


the wolf never hated the pack.


he just stopped waiting
for permission
to hunt.


the long nights.


the empty forests.


the hunger.


the silence.


the forest never felt lonely.


only quiet enough
to hear myself think.


wolves don’t stop hunting
because nobody’s watching.


they hunt
because survival
doesn’t wait
for witnesses.


so if the forest
learns my name one day—


just know,


i was already moving
when it was quiet.


already bleeding
for something
nobody could see.


already becoming
something
the silence
had to raise.


— Mr. Mak


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