I don't want to be perfect, that sounds exhausting and suspiciously boring. I don't even want to be liked, applause from the wrong crowd is just noise. I would rather be the one who messed up loudly, walked through the dark, and still had the nerve to strike a match. Not to burn the world down, but to build a little private sunrise out of stubborn hope. I want scars that tell stories, not filters that hide them. What is life if not the audacity to imagine what no one else dares to consider out loud? If your ideas didn't make at least a fere people uncomfortable, were they even brave? If you didn't ruffle feathers on the way, did you really move, or did you just politely exist? I'd rather be controversial and alive than polished and invisible. Let them chase perfection, I'll be over here turning chaos into daylight with shaky hands and a fearless grin.