I write for the ones who never quite fit. Who cut off parts of themselves trying to be like the rest. The ones who are always too much, but never quite enough.
I write for the ones who tie themselves in knots and turn themselves down. Who have lived a thousand lives all in their head. Who imagine the worst not because it might happen, but because it already did. Who see themselves through a lens of shame. Who choke on the thick fog of their emotions and bleed from deep invisible wounds.