There’s something I haven’t told you.
When you read my words,
when you pause on my lines,
when you sit inside the spaces I leave —
you’re reading someone
who was never “good at English.”
I mix letters.
I trip over spelling.
Sometimes my thoughts move faster
than my hands can catch them.
I’m dyslexic.
School made that feel like a flaw.
Like I was behind.
Like language wasn’t built for me.
But here’s the strange, beautiful thing —
I still had stories.
I still had metaphors.
I still had feelings that burned too bright
to stay silent.
So I wrote anyway.
Even when it was messy.
Even when it took longer.
Even when I doubted myself.
And now,
to see thousands of you
reading something
I once thought I wasn’t “good enough” to create —
that means more than you know.
Because this?
This isn’t perfect grammar.
This is persistence.
This is a mind that reads differently
but feels deeply.
So if my words ever resonate,
if they ever sit with you gently
or shake you awake —
know this:
They were written by someone
who was told they struggled with language,
but refused to be silent anyway.
And I’m grateful you’re here.
Truly.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 8:38 PM UTC
There’s something I haven’t told you.
When you read my words,
when you pause on my lines,
when you sit inside the spaces I leave —
you’re reading someone
who was never “good at English.”
I mix letters.
I trip over spelling.
Sometimes my thoughts move faster
than my hands can catch them.
I’m dyslexic.
School made that feel like a flaw.
Like I was behind.
Like language wasn’t built for me.
But here’s the strange, beautiful thing —
I still had stories.
I still had metaphors.
I still had feelings that burned too bright
to stay silent.
So I wrote anyway.
Even when it was messy.
Even when it took longer.
Even when I doubted myself.
And now,
to see thousands of you
reading something
I once thought I wasn’t “good enough” to create —
that means more than you know.
Because this?
This isn’t perfect grammar.
This is persistence.
This is a mind that reads differently
but feels deeply.
So if my words ever resonate,
if they ever sit with you gently
or shake you awake —
know this:
They were written by someone
who was told they struggled with language,
but refused to be silent anyway.
And I’m grateful you’re here.
Truly.
Ive never shared this before, but Im dyslexic. Writing hasnt always been easy for me. Posting my work has taken courage. Seeing thousands of you read my words fills me with gratitude I cant fully describe. Thank you for listening, for pausing, and for letting me be heard exactly as I am.
