Winning has never been a source of satisfaction,

It has never made me proud, nor given me validation.

Praising and recognition feel truly suffocating.

I need no name, I need no honor, nor a trace of fame.

I need to be alone, I need to sense the freedom,

Which from me is taken away,

Tainted with the insincere loathsome,

Once entangled with people.

With success comes the recognition,

Followed by the idle praisings, fooling credits,

Now dressed up in the clothes of some comic reputation,

Strangled by the brutal hands of idiotic expectations.

Expectations place you in a box –

You’re now forced to play a role,

Which only reaches the borders of the walls.

No ease, no space, no free-will goal.  

Winning places you in a box –

with no room for experimentation.

And to taste the splendor of walls’ extinction

You simply need to suffer the loss.

Because win equals prison,

And loss equals freedom.

Now you’ve torn the clothes

you’ve been given to wear.

Now it’s you, not the reputation,

Now it’s you, not the expectations.

Now it’s you, not the limitations.

Now you’re free, landed safe and sound,

With no duty to hold on to.

Simply peace and win.