Victim Authors

funny thing

about people—

they’ll tell the story

like life

just happened

to them.

—

same excuses.

same speeches.

same reasons

why tomorrow

never came.

same motivation.

same angles.

same promises

that disappear

the second

effort costs something.

—

you call people

ungrateful.

say they only see

what you don’t do

instead of what you did.

and maybe—

there’s truth in that.

i know exactly

what you’ve done.

i never forgot it.

but don’t let

the illusion

of what you’ve done

blind you

from the truth

in what you don’t do.

—

actions

have always spoken

louder than words.

that’s the problem.

words

are easy.

support

sounds beautiful.

loyalty

sounds beautiful.

belief

sounds beautiful.

until life

asks for proof.

—

same stories.

same excuses.

same version

of “i’ve been busy.”

same version

of almost.

same version

of someday.

—

funny thing is—

avoidance

has a language.

you can hear it

in delayed effort.

half promises.

missed moments.

energy

that disappears

when something real

finally lands.

—

i dropped the work.

the thing

i bled for.

the thing

i stayed up for.

the thing

that carried

pieces of me

inside it.

and somehow—

urgency

never arrived.

support

felt optional.

belief

felt delayed.

—

but life

has a strange way

of exposing

what people

actually value.

because effort

moves.

attention

moves.

people always

make time

for the things

that matter.

—

look at me.

really look.

i built something.

became something.

through pressure.

through silence.

through rooms

that got quieter.

through people

who clapped less

the closer

i got.

—

and still—

i don’t hate you.

i just see

the structure now.

some people

need you

as motivation.

as comparison.

as fuel.

something to speak on.

something to measure

themselves against.

—

if dissing me

helps the story

you tell yourself—

so be it.

but don’t mistake

distance

for blindness.

i saw it.

all of it.

—

victim authors

always write

themselves

as misunderstood.

rarely

as accountable.

—

me?

i stopped

arguing with words.

actions

have always

told me enough.

— Mr. Mak

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

back when we were kids

back when we were kids, life was nothing but light, pavement, and laughter. longboards gliding down the trails, basketballs echoing through the evening air, music spilling out of those old ‘90s retro speakers we’d find in our parents’ basements — static, bass, and freedom. no phones glued to our hands, no pressure to post — just company. just presence. the world was wide open, and the only rule was, “come home before it gets dark.” we never cared. we always pushed it — one more ride, one more laugh, one more stretch of freedom before the world called us back. me and manvir — two kids who thought forever was real. we’d cross that broken bridge just to reach the other neighborhood, gripping the guardrails like our lives depended on it, pretending it was life or death — and in a way, it was. ’cause that’s what being a kid felt like: every small thing was everything. we didn’t know what healing was, didn’t need to. life hadn’t scarred us yet. we lived like every day was a movie we didn’t h...
Read more

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 fallof...
Read more

The Surge and 5 Navels

  there are moments in life where the line between science, myth, and spirit collapses — and you don’t just read about them, you live them. today, i experienced one. i reread my vow, and the world went silent. the air stilled like reality itself paused to listen. then, when the words left my chest, the surge came. it wasn’t a metaphor. it wasn’t motivation. it was electricity. my nervous system lit up like a tesla coil. the buzzing was real — not imagined. my third eye went wild, pulsing with a rhythm i couldn’t explain. for a moment it felt chaotic, like lightning with nowhere to land. then, slowly, the surge settled into resonance. the crackle smoothed into a low hum, a sound like night itself breathing. that was the shift. campbell calls it the world navel — the umbilical cord through which eternity flows into time. tesla would call it resonance — high potential and high frequency aligning until the air itself vibrates. i call it the surge. and in that moment, i ...
Read more