I do not live in your world.
I do not want to live in your world.
Because in your world, comfort is bought in installments, and dreams are filed under “maybe later.”
You call me crazy, but I call your surrender insanity.
You wake up to alarms—
I wake up to purpose.
You see dirt and detours—
I see paths that haven’t been named yet.
I build. I move. I go.
Where the lines are drawn, I erase them.
Where the maps stop, I continue.
And where most people would fold from doubt or discomfort, I set up camp—because that’s where life starts.
You want me to chase what you call security,
But I find peace in motion, and freedom in the unknown.
You want me to explain why I’d rather sleep under stars than ceilings,
Why I’d rather speak through actions than pleasantries,
Why I’d rather be than belong.
But the truth is—
You only ask because you forgot what it means to feel alive.
You don’t see the rhythm in the wind or the sermons written in a forest silence.
You don’t hear the voice of God in solitude,
Because you’re too busy talking over yourself in crowds.
I’m not the one who’s disconnected.
I’m the one who refused to be plugged into your illusion.
So call me what you will—
Crazy.
Wanderer.
Misfit.
But just know this:
Everything you mock in me is everything you once loved in yourself
Before someone convinced you to be reasonable.
I will not be tamed.
I will not be shelved.
I will not be measured by metrics that do not apply to the life I’ve chosen.
And I will never apologize for refusing to rot in a box labeled “normal.”
You can keep your world.
I’ll be out in mine—
Building it brick by brick,
mile by mile,
moment by moment.
Free.