For the bruised, the buried, the born-again wild ones. For the ones who’ve prayed in parking lots, stood shaking outside courtrooms — and the ones who know healing has no face, no timeline, no finish line. The ones who’ve hit bottom, got back up messy, and kept showing up. Wrecked. Raw. Still rising. Unbroke ain’t fashion — it’s fight. It’s survival you can wear. Grace forged in fire. The story written in bruises, backbone, and breath. It’s what we wear when we stop running. Proof you lived. Proof you stayed. Proof you didn’t quit.