Rebellious AF – it’s time for the storm to RAGE against the machine!

What are you willing to die for?

Not who.



If you’re not willing to die for anything,

why the fuck are you alive??


So let me ask you again:

What are you committed to in your life right now?

The exhilarating dream.

The enormous vision.

The message of global importance.


What’s waking you shrouded in darkness,

whilst the rest of the world still floats in La-la land?


I know you hear her.

The muse.

Whispering in your mind,

and she’s growing impatient.


You know that she’s led you to this point,

gave you everything that you need,

all the experiences,

all the relationships,

all the pain,

so that

you can harness your power;

so that

you can question the norm;

so that

you can find your own truth;

so that

you can commit your mind, body and soul to being the BEST version you,

standing out above the mediocre masses,

for those who are ready to rise,

and RAGE against the machine.


We are living in a time when people are going stark raving mad.

Taking their guns, raining destruction, because they feel so out of control, so insignificant, so unseen, they’re willing to murder for a moment of power, a second of significance.

Taking up their playstation controllers, disconnected from their families for days on end whilst they go on raids, because they feel so puny, hoping victory in the clouds will make them admirable in real life.

Taking their bottles of alcohol and ‘drinking away the stress’, past the point of laughter, past the point of sorrow revealed, to the point of oblivion and then wondering why they’re so exhausted all the time, their bodies marinading in poison with which their numbing their state of dishonour.

Taking that tub of ice-cream, that packet of chips, that bucket of KFC, shoving anything they can find into their mouths to fill that emptiness spreading like cancer inside them.


Today I’m calling you out on your shit.

Today I’m actually bypassing your little ego,

I’m sitting in front of you,

staring you in the eye,

and I’m telling you it’s fucking time to



I don’t give a shit if you have testicles or ovaries.

I don’t care that your momma didn’t love you.

Your age is irrelevant to me.

I don’t actually give a damn about how much money you have or what your ‘title‘ is.

If you’re reading this, I’m calling you out.





BUT you have to fucking CHOOSE.


You have to admit to yourself that you NEVER came to this life to fit in.

You’ve always been a misfit in the school of conformity.

You have to understand that for you,

it’s only the extremes:

thrive or death.


I’ve been where you are,

pretending to be okay with an average life.

The dream we get sold of the white picket fence.

In the process, merely existing.

I KNOW that you’re hurting like a motherfucker!

I remember the pain,

and I hold on to it.

This is the fuel that keeps my passion burning relentlessly.


Oh please,

don’t think that just because you can fool everyone else that I don’t see through your facade.

Don’t insult me by thinking you can bat your eyelashes at me,

crack your silly jokes,

and laugh merrily in public,

when we both know that when you’re behind closed doors,

you can’t even look yourself in the eye!


For no other reason than YOU ARE PLAYING IT SMALL,

so that others will feel a little better about themselves.





‘Oh but Anel, that’s easier said than done.  What if…..’

I know Pumpkin.

Which is why it took me more than FOUR DECADES


to finally say,

fuck this bullshit,

and be all of me.


Walking away from everything and everyone I knew,

with love and appreciation for their companionship to this point,

and choosing my PURPOSE

above belonging.


Because for us,

there is no joy without pride,

there is no satisfaction without honour,

there is no achievement without conquering the DEMON BITCH within ourselves.

The one who taunts us,

telling us that we don’t matter,

that we’re not good enough,

that we should just be a good little girl,

behaving proper,

kissing arse,

so that others will like us,

and then,

if we swallow enough shit,

we’ll be happy.


And we have no desire to kill her off,

for she is NOT the true enemy.


Oh hell no.


She is our sparring companion.

The one who continues to throw up the blocks in our minds,

continuously punching us so hard stars float in our eyes,

and we shake it off,

we fucking rise,

again and again.



The storm raging louder inside,

until our voices rip from our throats,

charging with so much passion,

so much conviction,

so much determination,

that we become unstoppable!


Now, tell me again why you’re choosing to hide in the masses.

Tell me again why you don’t mind not living your true potential.

That you’re fiiiiiiiiiine.

That you’re okay to just settle.

That you don’t need more than this – ugh.


Tell me again why you can’t go for it as if you’re hair is on fire.

Tell me again.

If you dare.


You KNOW that I don’t care for your excuses.


I’m only interested in your true vision.

I’m only interested in your courage.

I’m only interested in your best.


Anything else,

you can just go play in the sandpit with all the other little kids shitting their pants.


Only death is inevitable.

Thriving, is the choice of the brave.


Live with honour.


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