“Blessed are the ones they counted out. We rise quieter, but burn brighter.”
They don’t underestimate you by accident. They do it to contain you. To shrink you down until you’re manageable. Palatable. Easier to ignore.
Because if they had to face what you really are —your fire, your defiance, your refusal to play small— they’d have to reckon with the ways they’ve settled for less.
So they call your work a hobby. They talk over you, doubt you, smile like they’re being generous with their time.
They keep you just below eye level, because if you stood at your full height, you’d eclipse them completely.
But being underestimated is not weakness. It’s strategy — when you make it yours.
Because when they assume you’re harmless, you have room to sharpen your edges in peace. When they stop watching, you get to build your kingdom without their commentary.
And then one day, you show up with something finished, fierce, and unmistakably yours.
The show that brings the house down.
The story that slices through silence.
The performance they can’t forget — even if they want to.
Underestimating you was never about you. It was always about control. About keeping power in the hands of those who never earned it.
But control only works if you agree to be small. And you’re done doing that.
So let them call you difficult. Let them think you’re just a girl with tricks and dreams.
Let them roll their eyes while you build an empire with blood under your nails.
And when they finally realize who you are, they’ll try to act like they always believed in you.
But you’ll know better.
This is the gospel of fire. Of rebellion. Of reclaiming the narrative.
This is the gospel according to Kino B. Demented.