We don’t have it easy, we never really did, learned how to be strong back when we were kids. Bills on the table, doubts in our heads, still chasing tomorrow from the edge of the bed. Some nights feel heavy, like the weight won’t bend, like hope’s just a word people say to pretend. But we lace up our courage, we show up again, even when quitting would feel like the win. We’ve been bruised by the world, yeah, tested and worn, still stitching our dreams back together by morning. We’ve fallen apart and learned how to stand, with callused hearts and shaking hands. It’s not about comfort or having it made, it’s surviving the storm and loving that way. It’s holding on tight when the ground starts to slide, saying “not today” to the voice that says hide. We’ve learned how to laugh in the middle of stress, how to call it a win just to make it through mess. How to love with no guarantee, how to stay when leaving feels easier, see. We don’t have much, but we’ve got enough— a little belief, a whole lot of trust. Enough fire inside to keep us alive, enough heart to keep reaching, enough nerve to try. Some dreams take time, some prayers take years, some answers come wrapped up in sweat and tears. But we keep saying yes to one more day, even when faith’s hanging on by a threadbare thread of hope and grace. We’re not fearless, just stubborn as hell, refusing to quit when the odds won’t sell. We bend, we break, we swear we’re done— then get back up when the morning comes. So if you’re tired, if you’re barely there, if all you’ve got left feels paper-thin, unfair— hold on to it anyway, don’t let it slip, sometimes surviving is the miracle, this is it. We’re still standing, still fighting the night, still believing the dark doesn’t cancel the light. And even if hope’s just a whisper today, we’ll make it through somehow— yeah, we’re still living on it anyway.

I don’t promise perfection, I promise presence. The kind that stays when the room gets quiet and the truth finally has space to breathe. I’m not here for the highlight reel, I’m here for the messy middle— the tired eyes, the cracked voice, the nights when you don’t know what you need but you know you don’t want to be alone. I’ll sit with you in the wreckage, no fixing, no judging, no rushing the pain. Some things don’t need answers, they just need someone who doesn’t walk away. I’ve learned love isn’t fireworks every night, it’s consistency when the spark feels dim. It’s choosing to stay when it’d be easier to disappear, choosing us even when the world feels thin. I’ll hold space for your bad days, your moods, your doubts, your fears. I won’t flinch when you unravel— I know healing isn’t pretty or linear. If you fall, I won’t ask why. I’ll just help you up, dust off your knees. If you break, I won’t love you less— I’ll love you louder where it needs to be. I don’t need grand gestures or perfect timing, I believe in showing up, again and again. In small moments that quietly say you’re safe here, this isn’t pretend. When the world gets heavy and your faith runs low, when you feel like you’re carrying it all alone, remember this— there’s someone who chose you on purpose and isn’t letting go. I won’t promise the road is easy, or that we won’t hurt sometimes. But I promise honesty, loyalty, and a hand to hold when the dark hits hard. I’ll be here for the long nights, the slow mornings, the days you doubt yourself. Not as a savior, not as a hero— just someone who stays, even when staying takes everything else. This isn’t a fairytale vow or a temporary thing. It’s a quiet commitment, steady and true. No matter how the world turns or tests us, you won’t face it alone— I’ll be right here with you.

I wake up wired and tired, halo crooked, smile cracked, heart on a bender, brain doing donuts on the track. I love too loud, I feel too fast, I burn then I retreat, lipstick prayers and blunt smoke curls at the devil’s feet. I’m a wildfire wrapped in velvet, sweet chaos in boots, stoned philosophy at sunrise, whiskey-truths in my roots. I’ll ghost my demons, then invite them back for a drink, we’ll laugh about the damage and the mess that I think. Some days I’m lightning—kiss the sky, scream I’m alive, other days I’m ocean-floor quiet, just trying to survive. I swing between saints and sinners like a wrecking-ball heart, breaking patterns, breaking mirrors, breaking down works of art. I’m not fragile, I’m volatile, there’s a difference, babe, I don’t shatter when I’m shaken—I rearrange. I bleed poetry, curse fluently, heal crooked and slow, I make a home in the ruins just to see if it grows. Call me difficult, dramatic, too much, too real, I’ll call it honesty raw enough you can feel. I don’t do small talk, I do soul-deep dives, I don’t fake peace, I set fire to lies. I’ve danced with the darkness, flirted hard with the edge, made deals with my shadow I’ll probably never hedge. I’ve loved like a riot, left scars and songs, said “fuck it” out loud when the nights got long. I’m mascara streaks and leather dreams, heartbreak anthems, midnight screams. I’m rebel hope with a halo bent, a broken compass still heaven-sent. I get high on truth, low on sleep, promise too much, feel too deep. I’ll save myself, then sabotage, then rise again—don’t call it odd. This isn’t a phase, it’s a survival style, smiling through hell with a dangerous smile. I don’t need fixing, I need space to be, wild, messy, honest, unapologetically me. So if I scare you, good—means I’m alive, means I won’t shrink just to help you survive. I’m a chorus of chaos, a scream and a prayer, half wrecked, half healed, fully fucking aware. Love me loud or leave me alone, I’ve built my throne out of broken bones.

My brain never shuts the fuck up, it just changes the channel without warning. One minute I’m fine, reorganizing my thoughts, next minute I’m spiraling over nothing like it personally attacked me. I laugh at the wrong times, overthink the right ones, carry conversations in my head long after everyone else went home. If there’s peace nearby, I probably missed it. I don’t sleep—I hover. Eyes closed, mind sprinting laps, replaying moments I should’ve let die years ago like they’re breaking news. I know it’s ridiculous. That doesn’t stop it. I’m functional chaos, held together by sarcasm, caffeine, and smoke. I look calm enough to pass, but inside it’s a fucking yard sale of emotions with no price tags and too many voices. I check myself constantly— Was that weird? Too much? Not enough? I over-explain, then regret explaining, then regret existing in the first place for a solid thirty seconds. I don’t trust silence. It feels like a setup. So I fill it with jokes, noise, distractions, anything to keep my thoughts from getting too creative. Some days I feel sharp, electric, unstoppable. Other days I’m convinced everyone’s tired of me and just too polite to say it. Both feel equally real. I know I’m a lot. I’ve tried being less—it didn’t stick. Turns out shrinking yourself doesn’t quiet the mind, it just makes it louder. I don’t need fixing, diagnosing, or saving. I need space to exist without apologizing for how loud my brain is or how deeply I feel everything. I calm the static the only way I know how— slow exhales, hazy thoughts, letting my mind wander instead of strangling it into silence. It’s not perfect, but it’s survivable. I’m not losing my grip, I’m just aware of how thin it is. And somehow, that awareness is what keeps me standing. So yeah, I’m a mess—but I’m a conscious one. Still laughing, still trying, still here. Anxious, restless, self-aware as hell, and refusing to disappear just because my mind runs wild. This isn’t madness. It’s just what happens