I've been picked on my whole entire life, and I feel like I

Host: The studio was quiet tonight, lit only by a few hanging lamps that cast soft circles of gold against bare concrete walls. On the far side, a few photographs were pinned in a row — black-and-white portraits of people smiling, crying, surviving. They weren’t celebrities or models. They were ordinary faces — extraordinary stories. Each photo bore a small handwritten tag beneath it: #IAmMoreThan.

Jack stood at the edge of the display, hands in his pockets, studying one of the portraits — a young boy with scars on his knuckles but light in his eyes. Jeeny sat on a wooden bench behind him, her brown eyes catching the lamplight like amber, watching him quietly. The space smelled faintly of paint, coffee, and the soft salt of emotion.

Jeeny: “Kylie Jenner once said, ‘I’ve been picked on my whole entire life, and I feel like I started the IAmMoreThan campaign on Instagram to try to find other people who have been bullied and totally overcame it and did something amazing with it.’”

Host: Jack exhaled — not a sigh exactly, but the kind of breath that carries memory.
Jack: “You know… it’s easy to dismiss words like that coming from someone famous. But when I look at these faces — I get it. She turned pain into connection. That’s no small thing.”

Jeeny: “It’s the hardest kind of alchemy, isn’t it? Turning wounds into something luminous.”

Jack: “Yeah. Most people either bury their hurt or build walls with it. She built a bridge.”

Jeeny: “A bridge for the broken.”

Host: The light flickered softly, and for a moment, the whole wall of portraits seemed alive — hundreds of faces stitched together by resilience. The air carried that quiet, reverent energy you feel in places of truth.

Jack: “You ever notice that when someone powerful admits they’ve been powerless, it changes everything? Suddenly, pain becomes permission. It tells people, ‘You’re not alone, and you’re not finished.’”

Jeeny: “That’s the beauty of the IAmMoreThan campaign. It’s not about fame or filters. It’s about testimony. People standing in their scars saying, ‘Look. This is what survival looks like.’”

Jack: “And survival isn’t pretty.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s raw. But that’s what makes it beautiful.”

Host: Jack walked along the line of photos, fingertips grazing the edges. A girl with alopecia, smiling without her wig. A boy who lost his leg in an accident but ran marathons now. A trans teen wearing a graduation gown.

Jack: “These aren’t just stories — they’re revolutions. Every one of them rewrote the script of what pain means.”

Jeeny: “That’s why I love her choice of words: ‘I am more than.’ It’s not defiance — it’s declaration. A refusal to let suffering define the entire story.”

Jack: “And maybe that’s the real rebellion in a world obsessed with labels — saying, ‘You can name my hurt, but you don’t get to name me.’”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The faint sound of rain began tapping against the windows, soft and rhythmic, like applause from heaven. Jeeny stood, walking to the wall, her gaze tracing the photos one by one.

Jeeny: “You know, people mock celebrity activism. They say it’s shallow. But sometimes it’s the loudest voice that finally draws attention to the quiet ones.”

Jack: “You think Kylie meant for it to go that deep?”

Jeeny: “I think she just told the truth — and truth always finds its own depth.”

Jack: “Maybe that’s the point. It doesn’t matter who starts it. What matters is who it reaches.”

Host: He paused, looking at one photo longer — a woman holding a sign that read: ‘I was told I’d never matter. I matter now.’ His voice came out low, almost reverent.
Jack: “It’s strange, isn’t it? The internet — the same place that bullies breed — can also become a sanctuary when used right.”

Jeeny: “Light and darkness sharing the same circuit.”

Jack: “Like people.”

Jeeny: “Like her.”

Host: Jeeny turned to him, her voice softer now.
Jeeny: “You ever been bullied, Jack?”

Jack: (a faint smile) “Of course. But mine was quieter. Life has a way of teaching you you’re less than — even without words. Failure. Rejection. Loneliness. Those are just grown-up bullies.”

Jeeny: “And did you ever overcome it?”

Jack: “No. I learned to walk with it. Some wounds don’t heal; they harmonize.”

Jeeny: “That’s not defeat.”

Jack: “No. It’s evolution.”

Host: The rain grew heavier now, streaking down the tall windows, turning the city lights into soft watercolor. The portraits reflected against the glass — hundreds of ghostly smiles in motion.

Jeeny: “That’s what I think this campaign really is — evolution. People taking the ugliness thrown at them and reshaping it into something magnificent. Into art. Into activism. Into identity.”

Jack: “Into purpose.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The sound of a distant siren passed outside, echoing through the night — a strange harmony with the rain. Inside, the silence deepened again.

Jack: “You know what’s amazing? Every one of these faces — they look… lighter. Not unscarred, but unashamed.”

Jeeny: “Because shame only survives in silence. She gave them voice — and that broke the spell.”

Jack: “That’s powerful.”

Jeeny: “It’s healing disguised as hashtag.”

Host: Jack chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
Jack: “Who would’ve thought? A girl once mocked for selfies builds a movement that teaches people to see themselves differently.”

Jeeny: “That’s redemption — and irony — in perfect balance.”

Jack: “Maybe that’s what makes it so human.”

Jeeny: “She didn’t have to start a revolution — she just had to say, ‘Me too, but watch what I do next.’”

Host: The rain slowed to a drizzle, and the studio seemed to breathe again. Jack turned off the lamp, and the glow softened, bathing the photographs in quiet gold.

Jeeny stood beside him, their reflections merging faintly against the dark glass — two silhouettes surrounded by stories.

Jeeny: “You know, I think that’s what being more than really means — not forgetting the pain, but refusing to be imprisoned by it.”

Jack: “And maybe using it as fuel instead.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Because every scar is proof of movement — you only scar if you heal.”

Host: The city lights shimmered in the wet streets outside — reflections like small acts of defiance against the darkness.

Jack: “You think she knew what she was creating when she posted that first message?”

Jeeny: “Probably not. Most revolutions start as confessions.”

Jack: “And most confessions start as loneliness.”

Jeeny: “Yes. But this — this turned loneliness into belonging. Hurt into hope.”

Host: Jack nodded, his eyes heavy with quiet understanding.
Jack: “Then maybe she’s right. Maybe being more than isn’t about perfection. It’s about persistence.”

Jeeny: “And presence — showing up for others so they can show up for themselves.”

Host: The rain stopped. The silence was complete now — the kind that carries peace instead of absence.

Jack whispered:
Jack: “It really is amazing.”

Jeeny: “It is.”

Host: They stood together before the wall of portraits — faces of strangers, yet not strangers at all. Each one a mirror, each one a triumph.

And in that still, sacred space, they understood what Kylie Jenner had really meant:

that strength doesn’t begin where pain ends —
it begins when pain learns to speak.

And when it speaks together, it becomes a chorus —
a quiet, radiant revolution called I Am More Than.