perpetually imagine this shit: you’re a goddamn 👑✨ princess, insulated from reality.

perpetual victim?

📣🧍🏻‍♀️🚨

this is a goddamn epidemic

y’all are so
fucking insulated
and tragically delusional

because—
nah princess.
it’s
perpetual fucking witness
of aggravated
fucking felonies.
and unfortunately
for you bitches,
i paid attention.

yo
even little ass me
was like,
wait—
fuck this shit.

🧃👊🏼

sure.
sometimes
i sound angry.
sometimes i am.
but most of the time
i’m just trying to
tell the fucking truth
without bursting into
fucking flames.

think hard.
i grew up in a house
where silence
had a fucking body count.
like yeah,
go there—
i’ve blacked out whole ass
seasons of my life.
that’s what happens
when your nervous system’s
been in fucking
call of duty mode
since you were,
like,
a fucking fetus.

👶🏻🔫

but instead
of actually
engaging with that,
y’all love slapping
the “unstable” sticker
on us
and calling it
a fucking day.
bro,
think
a little more
goddamn critically. 😐
fucksake.
as if trauma survivors
don’t literally make up
the majority of
fucking abuse victims.
i know you know,
it’s just easier
to other me,
so you feel
shielded from it ever
fucking happening to you.

😈🦋✨😚

the psych breakdown?

i had to
do something wrong
be a bitch.
too demanding,
yelled too loud.
idfk.
literally anything.
pick your poison.
i’ve heard it all.

baby,
they need a reason
for you to have
gotten fucked up,
so they can
logic their way
out of how
it’ll never fucking
happen to them.

nah babe,

it could. 💔

i hope it doesn’t.
but it fucking could.

and then?
there’s the
“eternal victim” squad.
lmao.
bold of you
to be
that candidly
down with the
victim blaming narrative—
to say that to my face,
confidently,
out loud.

🗣️🙏

bro,
courageous as fuck,
standing up
to real-life-ass
victims of fucking crime,
fucking legendary—
with projected shame
that avoids
all statistical
fucking evidence
conclusively finding—
yup. ding ding;
you’re just being
a fucking dickhead.

because really,

imagine this:
you're a kid.
shit’s already weird.
your dad’s a
fucking elite-level
goddamn asshole.
mom either
co-signs the fucking chaos,
or straight up dumps you
to figure
that shit out—
absolutely fucking solo.
at like 11. 😐
lmfao—
god bless.
because hey—
everyone else had a conflict.
they were fucking busy.
so fast-forward,
you’re grown.
pregnant.
someone punches you
in the fucking face.
a bunch of times—
the group chat
definitely fucking knows.
and somehow,
babe, they’re
still too fucking busy,
to show up for the birth.

😠🔥🏘️

but yeah,
they know
you delivered
with
two fucking black eyes.

babe,
you still got the texts
inquiring
if he punched you—
and yeah,
he did.

but y’all
they figured:
fuck it,
she’ll sort that shit herself.

ha.

yeah babe,
you’re right.
i’m the dramatic one.
should i have
brought the
fucking mace
to my own domestic—
pregnant ass assault?

what the fuck.

here’s the deal:
honestly.
i’m not out here
angry for attention.
i’m not mad
because i
want to destroy shit.
i’m mad because
people are being
fucking destroyed.
in real time.
in real houses.
in your cousin’s hallway.
your coworker’s kitchen.
your best friend’s fucking closet.
and y’all are
too
fucking
uncomfortable
to look.

"but sam,
you could say it fucking nicer!"
girl
no the fuck i can’t.
because if men
were getting
strangled and silenced
and fucking stalked
at the rate women are,
baby,
the president would
have an entire SWAT-themed
brunch fundraiser
by fucking sunday.

💀🥞🪖🇺🇸🎖️🍾

state of a fucking emergency level shit.

immediately. 💥

but nah,
preggo women in the us?
shit
your literal
biggest ass risk
is your goddamn
babydaddy.

🤰💀

but nah,
no
”yo wtf is going on here”

nah,
just fucking vibes.
and loud stfu energy.

you’re the reason
women will
continue
to fucking die.

and i say
not
fucking
today.

nope.

not again.

because guess what?

i’ve got a daughter now.
and guess
what the fuck
she’s not inheriting?
the “just survive and eat shit”
goddamn saga.
she’s getting
the trained in
fuck around
and
find
the fuck out—
yo.
i’ll be loud
about this shit.
the one where
we don’t stay quiet
to keep other people
fucking comfortable.

nah,
we stay alive.
even if
you think it’s fucking ugly.

nah,
because?
we’re saving—
your fucking aunties.
your future nieces,
your goddamn wives.

so fuck it—

call me a victim
if it helps your
little ego
sleep in its tiny
trauma-free bed.
but know this:
you’re mad
that i lived.
you’re mad
that i remember.
you’re mad
that i’m not
shutting the fuck up.

you want perpetual victim?
baby, i got
perpetual receipts.
perpetual protection
for the kids
still stuck in fucked up homes
with overt fucking violence.
perpetual discomfort
for people
who would rather
fucking judge
than visualize
the goddamn
hellscape.

💥🕵️

so go ahead.
picture this:
you got no one to call.
no safe place to run.
no clue
how the fuck to get out.
but everyone’s telling you
to calm down
and stop making it
“a public thing.”

literally:
die where
we can’t fucking see you
suffer in daylight.

please. lol.

💀🔪

yo,
ok.
deep breath.

if your chest
just got tight—yeah.
that’s empathy, bitch.
keep going.
don’t look away now.

🔍 zoom in—

stare that shit down.
it’s rough.
but it will make you
so much fucking better.

i’m not
trying to be soft.
i’m trying to survive
loudly so
someone else
doesn’t have to
die fucking silently.

✶🪓