OWNED. RAW. UGLY. MINE. JUST A SHIT!

“MY SHIT” is not just a visual tantrum—it’s a declaration of messy ownership. It claims the chaos, the trauma, the contradictions, and says: this is mine. It’s a portrait of unapologetic self-awareness, where shame is recycled into power and ugliness becomes the new currency of authenticity.

Each scribble, symbol, and scrawl is a raw note in a symphony of emotional discharge. This is the language of someone who has seen too much, felt too hard, and refused to clean up for anyone’s approval. It's graffiti therapy, a psychological purge wrapped in humor and rage.

In a world obsessed with filters and fake perfection, “MY SHIT” is refreshingly rotten. It stinks of truth. It laughs in your face and says, “You want real? Here’s real.” It doesn’t want to be liked—it wants to be seen.