In bold the warnings of our collision was written.Yet, pages could never fully capture the devastation tocome.Day one... day 2, we waited, we rested we flirted with theidea that maybe. Just maybe, peace was our forever.Then it happened. It was there, it was always there.Slowly crushing and advancing towards us.We bent from the pressure, our vibrant green torn andflung.I thought at least we would be solid enough to face thisbut our feelings like fallen roofs failed us.We didn’t die but we grew distant.Seeds tossed into the ocean seeking for a new heaven.Perhaps, we could have held on tighter.Afterall, the signs were always there.

I am not the beauty they framein neat lines and quiet symmetry.I am the curve in the brushstroke,the colour that refuses to staywhere the palette says it should.Some may pass me by—eyes trained for the ordinary—but those who lingerlearn to read the layers:the storms I’ve survived,the softness I’ve guarded,the wild, unedited truth of me.I am art—not for mass appeal,not for fleeting glances,but for the ones who knowhow to look deeply,who feel before they judge.And when they see me,truly see me,I am unforgettable—a masterpiece carvedfrom resilience and rare light,shining in a wayonly the unconventional can.

- Thashaii Dixon-Muschette