I came across this phrase on a friend’s shorts, and instantly, it felt like it was written for me. It captured exactly what I was holding inside—unspoken frustration, raw emotion, the kind of anger that refuses to be smoothed over.

When I wrote this line, I wasn’t trying to be polite. I wasn’t trying to soften my edges.I was angry—at the world, at those who refuse to look beyond their own corner, at the cramped horizons that leave no room for empathy or wonder. And instead of burying that feeling, I gave it a voice.

Baba Yaga showed up.
That wild, terrifying, untamed figure from folklore—the one who refuses to be nice, who refuses to bend. For a moment, I understood her. The impulse to retreat into the woods, to guard your space, to toss away the ones who won’t respect it.

This piece is about anger, yes. But more than that—it’s about permission. The permission to feel all of it: rage, weariness, grief. Emotions that are often labeled “ugly” or “wrong.” I believe they have their own truth. And when we let them surface, they don’t destroy us—they clarify us.

So this artwork is not just a joke in calligraphy. It’s a reminder that anger has a place. That even in discomfort, there is honesty. And that sometimes, the only way forward is through the fire.