Dreamer
"I’m living, breathing proof that you can strut through hell in six-inch heels and come out the other side with your wings still shining and your lipstick un-smudged. Don’t let the halo fool you, darling—I didn’t pick it up in some fairy tale meadow. I forged it in the furnace of my own fucking survival, and every feather is lined with a story they couldn’t break me with. I don’t just wear scars, I flaunt them. They’re my war paint, my jewels, my proof that I can take a hit, sip my coffee, and laugh while the world wonders how the hell I’m still standing. People like to whisper, “She’s too much.” You’re damn right I am. I’m too fierce, too bold, too real for anyone still living life on mute. My fire scares those who only know how to simmer. I wasn’t built for soft edges and easy roads. I’m the storm you don’t see coming, the hurricane that blows the doors off every box they try to shove me into. And when I walk away from the chaos, you better believe I do it with a smirk and a mid...