This shirt is called “F** You”*, and it’s exactly what it looks like. A wall of emotion. A middle finger in fabric form. A battle cry printed in bold.

I made this one at a time when my mental health was hanging by threads, and instead of shrinking into that darkness, I decided to yell back. This design was my release. It came from a place of hurt, of exhaustion, and of survival — but more than that, it came from a place of reclaiming my voice after too many people made it feel small. This is what happens when you reach your limit and choose yourself anyway.

The repetition was intentional — fuck you, fuck you, fuck you — like a mantra for the angry and unhealed. I wanted it to cover the whole front, edge to edge, because that’s how it felt in my body. Loud. Unavoidable. Everywhere. This wasn’t meant to be subtle.

The orange was a new choice for me — I’ve never been one for loud colors, but this time I wanted something that didn’t blend in. Something that radiated the kind of boldness I was trying to step into. When I wore it out in public for the first time, I felt powerful. Like I’d finally cracked open and let the punk kid inside me walk free. No edits. No apologies. Just heat and honesty.

This shirt marked a turning point in how I express myself through my work. It’s one of the pieces that helped me shed old skin and stop waiting to be someone else’s version of “okay.” I stopped trying to be a butterfly and chose to be a moth instead — still drawn to light, still beautiful, but a little rougher around the edges.

This is for anyone who’s ever wanted to scream into the void. Or better yet — wear the scream like armor.