Free

i remember

everything.

—

my memory

is photographic.

—

i can picture

the scene

vividly.

—

the knife

going straight

in my back.

—

i feel

everything

right down

to my core.

—

so when

i’m bleeding,

when i’m leaking,

it’s all

on the floor.

—

but you

don’t get

to see

a thing.

—

i’m made

from pressure.

—

diamonds

beside

crowns

on kings.

—

to stay

at the level

y’all left me on,

i could

never.

—

new levels.

—

places inside

my mind

i never knew

i could reach.

—

my vision

was blurry.

—

i wanted

to believe.

—

mistook

potential

for character.

—

but character

always reveals

itself

under pressure.

—

true colours

painted clearly

through actions.

—

when weight

arrives,

you look

for an exit.

—

when emotion

asks you

to stand still,

you escape.

—

i wasn’t

raised that way.

—

emotions

don’t scare me.

—

i carry

the weight

of it all.

—

i thought

every ending

was different.

—

until

i stepped back.

—

different names.

different faces.

different promises.

—

same exit.

—

same silence.

—

same distance

the moment

truth enters

the room.

—

that’s when

i stopped

studying

what people

said.

—

started studying

what they

repeated.

—

memories

of the past

don’t stay

in the past.

—

they reveal

themselves

in patterns.

—

the same wound

wearing

different skin.

—

the same fear

using

different words.

—

the same person

running

every time

they’re confronted

with weight.

—

i thought

i understood.

—

now i know

many truths

can exist

at once.

—

you can care

and still

cause damage.

—

you can make

someone feel seen

and still

leave them

in the dark.

—

i can miss you

and still

never reach

back.

—

all of it

can be true.

—

i couldn’t

see it all.

—

now

i see

everything.

—

no room

for discussion.

—

it’s too late

to fix.

—

i reached

my hand out.

—

they spit

on the same hand

that plants

seeds

into blessings.

—

i’m pressing

everything.

—

turning pressure

into something

impressive.

—

back

against the wall,

look at the ladder

i built

above it.

—

i’m done

making excuses

for character

just because

history exists.

—

history

explains

why i loved you.

—

it doesn’t

excuse

what you did

with that love.

—

i can forgive

what happened

without inviting

it back

to my table.

—

the chairs

are limited now.

—

and the seat

you once had

got kicked away

the moment

silence became

your answer.

—

i’m better

independent.

—

that’s how

i stay

free.

—

never needing

someone

more than

i need

myself.

—

y’all don’t know

how much

this hurt.

—

trying

to make sense

of something

that still

doesn’t.

—

but i see

character

for what

it is now.

—

and the thought

of settling

that low

makes me sick.

—

i don’t want

revenge.

—

i don’t need

to get even.

—

i want

the weight

off my spirit.

—

free

from replaying

the scene.

—

free

from confusing

history

with loyalty.

—

free

from holding

a place

for people

who already

chose distance.

—

i remember

everything.

—

but memory

doesn’t mean

i have to remain

there.

—

i carry

the lesson.

—

leave behind

the person.

—

that’s

freedom.

—

accepting

what it revealed.

—

and walking

forward

without ever

looking down.

— 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

one with the seasons

  i see it now — a creator releasing his second book on his 26th birthday… that’s not luck, that’s alignment. that’s your life syncing with the seasons the same way your breath syncs with your chest when you’re locked in. i’m realizing i’m getting back into that mode — that mode where my actions become one with the earth’s cycle, where every season becomes a chapter, and every chapter demands a different version of me. winter winter is the dark night. reflection. inner sharpening. the season where men disappear to become dangerous again. nights stretch longer, streets go quiet after the sun drops, and the wolves come out to feast. this is the season where i write the heaviest pieces — the ones born in silence, the ones that feel like prophecy, the ones where the page becomes a battlefield. winter is when i lock in my voice. winter is when the real work happens. spring spring is rebirth. expansion. the softening after the storm. it’s when the ideas...
Read more