The poem
I'm nowhere near perfect, I've never claimed so,
my halo went missing a long time ago.
My patience is questionable, language is worse,
and occasionally "fuck it" becomes my whole verse.
But everything here is authentically me,
no watered-down version for people to see.
I won't dim my sparkle or soften my bite,
just to make insecure people feel right.
I've earned every scar, every laugh, every flaw,
every boundary built from the bullshit I saw.
So perfection can keep its impossible view-
I'd rather be messy, fucking real, and true.
The design
Comfort Colors® 1717, with the Editorial design printed on the front.