By day, I’m basically a well-dressed hurricane: sharp-tongued, cool-headed, and terrifyingly honest. Picture a bossy librarian who moonlights as a human lie detector. I don’t sugarcoat, I salt.
But p**l back the blazer and sarcasm, and surprise! Underneath the snarky exterior lies a soft, chaotic gremlin who yearns for emotional whiplash. I crave the kind of raw, messy connection where masks melt, egos crumble, and dignity gets gently kicked in the teeth (for love, obviously).
I get it, this isn't everyone's cup of trauma-healing tea. I'm not here for small talk or performative "vibes." I want someone who gets the sacred art of power exchange where being emotionally drop-kicked is a love language, and being deeply seen (and maybe a little roasted) is the ultimate intimacy.
Love your fucking life. Take pictures of everything. Tell people you love them. Talk to random strangers. Do things you're scared to do. Fuck it, because so many of us die and no one remembers a thing we did. Take your life and make it the best story in the world.
Don't waste that shit.
Hear me out... an Easter egg hunt for adults and the eggs are filled with $100 bills, fcks to give, anxiety meds, ibuprofen, antacids
AND the will to live.
Hear me out. A food truck that sells chicken sandwiches, I could park it next to Chick-Fil-A and it'll only be open on Sunday's. I'll call it Side
Chick.
I hate when people say
"you'll get through this."
I've been getting through things my whole life. I don't want to get through anymore. I want to feel normal. I want to feel light.
I want to stop carrying stuff I didn't choose. I want to exist without constantly scanning for danger.