Last Of My Kind

Sometimes I feel like I’m the last of my kind.

Not because I’m better than anyone else, not because I think I’ve got it all figured out, but because the way I’m built doesn’t seem to fit in this world anymore.

I was raised on loyalty, on keeping your word, on standing tall even when your knees were shaking. I was taught that your name means something, that respect isn’t given it’s earned and when you shake a man’s hand, it ought to still mean something. I carry scars most people will never see, both on the skin and deep in the soul, and I don’t hide from them. They remind me of where I’ve been, what I’ve lost, and what I refuse to ever give up on.

Back then, your word meant something. A promise wasn’t just talk, it was a bond, stronger than any paper contract or signature. If you told someone you’d be there, you showed up. If you said you’d stand by them, you stood, even when it cost you. These days, people throw around promises like loose change, then walk away when it gets inconvenient. But I still believe a man is only as good as the weight his word carries.

Everybody wants something from someone. That’s just the way people are wired. Some want your time, some want your energy, some want your love, some want your money, and some just want the benefit of being close to you without ever giving anything back. The hard truth is, very few people actually want you for who you are. Most are looking at what they can gain, not what they can give. That’s why discernment matters knowing the difference between those who value you and those who only value what you can provide.

And it feels like nowadays, everybody expects to be paid to do something for you. Nobody just helps because it’s the right thing anymore, there’s always a price tag attached. A favor has become a transaction, and kindness has turned into a business deal. I remember when people showed up for each other without needing anything in return. Now it seems like unless there’s money in it, folks won’t even lift a hand.

The truth is, the world’s full of people who trade integrity for attention, honesty for applause, and loyalty for convenience. That’s not me. That’ll never be me. I’d rather walk this road alone than sell out just to fit in. I’d rather be misunderstood for being real than praised for being fake.

So yeah, maybe I am the last of my kind. Maybe that means nights feel colder and days feel heavier. Maybe it means I walk a road most wouldn’t choose. But it also means I’ll leave behind something that can’t be broken or bought. It means the fire that keeps me alive burns with a purpose that doesn’t fade just because the world forgot what it means to stand for something.

And if I really am the last of my kind… then I’ll carry it with pride.