(reflection… reflection… recognized…)

They call him basic, talentless, unrefined,

just another ghost who stayed behind.

While others rise with auto-tuned illusion,

he spits raw sparks in quiet revolution.

No viral tricks, no million views,

but his mind explodes with hidden truths.

In the back of the room, quiet but wise,

his words hit harder than the trending lies.

He’s never been one for glowing screens,

prefers a real mistake to a fake routine.

Though silence wraps around his throat,

his quiet screams louder than any post.

And one way or another,

yeah—he will be recognized.

Even if fear grips tight and he hides inside,

even when anxiety screams “you’re not made for this,”

he answers back in echo:

“I define myself, not what they mirror in their scripts.”

Ideas locked like fire in a drawer,

afraid to burn, he shuts the door.

Stories etched in scars he won’t reveal,

he knows the fake love cuts deeper than steel.

Among filters, lights and neon haze,

he walks alone in his honest daze.

Proud of the chaos and sparks in his brain,

not begging for praise, just dancing in pain.

Never went viral, never sold out,

but his art still breathes, there’s no doubt.

Even if he shakes, he stays lit within,

the truest fire doesn’t scream—it begins.

Don’t measure him by likes or tags,

or by the crowd that brags and drags.

What’s real won’t need a second take—

just a soul that refuses to break.

(persistent… persistent…)

And one way or another,

he’s already been recognized.

Maybe not by all,

but by what he’s dared to build and idolize.

Not a star nor a ghost,

not a hero nor the lost,

he’s the spark that burns

in the cracks they never cross…

I decide… what I am…