What if, at certain points, we lose our core identity?
What if, at times, we drift so far that reality itself feels unfamiliar?

What if what others fail to understand
is not madness, but our way back home?

What if the path back is disguised, and
woven through pain and scars,
through wounds and laughter,
anger and malice,
joy and contentment?

What if we are the sum total of our feelings?
What if we never truly know who we are
until the day we are triggered?

I, for one, love my angry stupors.
I love my wounds, I cherish my scars.
In a crooked, unapologetic sense of humor.
It’s hard to define,
But they are the only things that feel real right now.

In an era where reality is endlessly altered,
In this age of AI,
where perception itself is a mirage,
the simple sanity of knowing what is real
and what is not
becomes the deepest desire of every soul
that longs for control.

So, what if the only thing we can truly relate to
Are our emotions?

In that, when we get angry,
It somehow matters that we hold onto that anger,
because it may be the only thing
We are certain exists.

With this mindset, we enter a new reality of perception,
one where judgment, of self or others, dissolves.
We cling to our anger,
our frustrations,
our hurts,
our joys,
our contentment,
because as far as the world is concerned,
These are the last shreds of dignity we have left.

They are cloaks we wear with pride.
They are our definitions of self.

And so we reserve the right
to be angry,
to be hurt,
to feel everything,
without the weight of guilt for unsettling others.

Because deep down, we all want the same thing:
a sense of belonging,
a sense of ownership.
A feel of control

We want to be authors of our own realities.

So don’t judge me for my emotions.
In fact, let me hold onto them
for as long as I can, because trust me ,
in the long run;

This is me.
This is us.
This is reality.