This One’s Not About the Art. It’s About the Line I Crossed.

I’ve written a lot of things on here, some raw, some refined, some stitched together from journal scraps, memories, grief, or whatever was keeping me up at 3 a.m.

But this post isn’t about art. It’s about a moment I’m not proud of.

Recently, I blew up, publicly and sharply, after finding someone had used my work without credit. It felt like the kind of theft you don’t call the cops for, but that still haunts you. Not because of exposure or clout. But because when your writing is the last thing you own, watching it get borrowed without consent hits different.

I didn’t handle it well. I let illness, job loss, exhaustion, and emotional fatigue speak louder than I should have. My tone? Too sharp. My delivery? Unfiltered, in the worst way.

I’ve always said I don’t write to inspire. I write because it’s the only thing I’ve got left that feels like mine. Still, I should have paused. I should have remembered that anger, even if justified, doesn’t excuse losing sight of the kind of presence I’ve tried to maintain here.

So this is me being accountable.

I’m not retracting the truth. But I am acknowledging that the way I carried it could’ve been better just like how I was raised.

To those of you who’ve supported my work, stayed present, or simply shared space with me here, thank you. For reading. For witnessing. For reminding me that calling something out doesn’t always need to come with fire.

And to the person who used my piece, you clearly know what you were doing. Regardless I’m done dragging that weight. We move different here.

Back to the work that matters.

-Shain