Things are not always what they seem to the blind eye.
Illusions walk beside us cloaked in flesh.
Wolves dress well these days—cashmere, silk, and sweet-smelling charm—
But underneath? Fangs. Intent. A hunger not for food, but for your fall.
You will lose something every time you level up. That’s not a warning—it’s a contract.
Elevation demands sacrifice.
The higher you climb, the thinner the air, the fewer the companions,
And the louder the silence becomes.
If you’ve come to my table expecting tea, let me make this clear—
I’m not sipping.
Because when your lips move about another in gossip,
I know that same tongue will dance with my name in another room.
Don’t test me. I see beyond the veil.
If you’re here for comfort, for soft lies wrapped in ribbons,
Turn around.
All I’ve got is the truth—raw, uncooked, and not always easy to swallow.
Ask the right questions, I’ll open the door.
But don’t expect me to carry you through.
If you came here to talk about the past,
You’re knocking on a door I’ve locked and buried.
There’s nothing for you there—only ghosts and dust.
We’re headed forward. Eyes up.
There are dreams to birth and promises to fulfill.
Don’t ask me to relive days that cannot be rewritten. I burned those chapters.
If I’ve let you go, please know—
There was a funeral for you.
I sent well-wishes with your name on the smoke.
May you rise elsewhere, but you’ll never hear from me again.
Should I cross paths with you, it means only this:
You are a friend. Nothing more. Don’t read into silence what was never said.
I am obsessed—with evolution.
With studying my failures like ancient texts.
I sit with my pain until it tells me everything.
I don’t run from my mistakes—I interrogate them.
But I am not your oracle card of good fortune.
I see what’s ahead, yes, but I do not interfere.
You chose your road. Walk it.
My mind… it moves fast. Warped, even.
So don’t expect me to sit and sip in yesterday’s rain.
I don’t mourn what’s already dead.
And for that? There are no apologies.
The work it took to become who I am now?
You couldn’t stomach the outline.
A weaker soul would’ve been locked away—
Wrapped in white walls and fed pills until they forgot who they were.
I remember everything.
I cried tears so ancient they woke the ancestors.
And when I weep, know the ground shakes.
It’s not for me—it’s for those I know are on the edge.
The ones heading toward crosses they can’t yet see.
Lessons they won’t learn until it’s too late.
Fingers pointed outward, never inward.
“I can’t. I won’t. The world hates me.”
No. You hate accountability.
And in that pity party, table for one,
You’ll find your people—those fluent in victimhood.
They’ll crown you king, feed your delusions,
And applaud your spiral.
But in this house?
There is no room for that.
No room for the soul waiting for a savior,
Waiting to be told what to do, how to think, how to be.
No space for the one who wants a map but refuses the journey.
You want love—but fear the vulnerability required to receive it.
You want respect—but have done nothing to earn it.
You want loyalty—but your own is paper-thin.
You speak of truth, but your tongue is a forge of lies.
You want the prize—but not the sweat.
You want the title—but not the test.
You say you’re strong—but your decisions are cowardly.
You want to lead—but you can’t even lead yourself.
You want to walk with purpose—but you’ve never taken the time to define one.
There is a message here for you.
Not everyone will hear it.
Not everyone is meant to.
But if you do—
If something in your bones stirred,
Then maybe—just maybe—
You’re ready to rise.
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