Under the gun of opinions.

You wanted me to smile, so I smiled. You wanted me to shut up, so I swallowed my words until they became poison. I danced on the coals of your expectations, dressed myself in decency, learned to feel comfortable. You called it education. I call it — breaking. There were many of you. And you were louder. And me? I was — insufficient. Too bright. Too alive. I hid my voice so you wouldn’t say it “cuts the ear.” I hid my anger because “anger doesn’t suit you.” I broke a millimeter every day. Until all that was left was — a shell. Smiling. Tired. And then... I woke up. Not because it became easier. But because it became impossible. I won't be your project anymore. I won't be "almost right." I don't live to fit in. I breathe to feel. If my voice is harsh, it's alive. If my dance is wild, it's real. And if you're still aiming, shoot. But know this: I'm not the target anymore. I'm the fire. And the fire doesn't ask if you like the way it burns.

Chain

EVM

Network

Avalanche

Contract

0xc9c104b4233798ce5d7841294f96caa881622c60

Token ID

3