I’ve seen the world try to pull me apart with both hands—one dressed like anxiety, the other masked as obligation to other people to fix their needs.
Bright-eyed devils with calendars for teeth, always selling me futures I didn’t ask for. Distractions demanding attention, and for what? To validate their existence? The noise was a big bag of irrelevance with a grind that was gospel. Everyone humming along to the empty hymn of feeding the matrix.
So I slipped out the backdoor of that neon circus. Lit a cigarette and found solitude under the trees and walked until the voices dimmed. My shoes used to beat the cracked sidewalks like drums of revolt, and so I took them off and walked in the grass. I stopped measuring myself in milestones. Stopped apologizing for my own breath.
This is where I land now: grounded like a thunder moon before the summer storm.
Peace isn’t passive—it’s defiance. It’s choosing stillness when the whole machine wants movement. It’s eating food slow to enjoy the taste. It’s speaking slowly, with deliberation. It’s burning slow fires and living better because of it.
I don’t owe the world simply to add to its chaos. I owe myself my calm. This is my promise, at my own pace…written in dirt and in my soul and on this keyboard for you to read today.
