Chaos with Cait

My worth is not up for discussion, not even with myself. I know that I am magic. So there is nothing to debate about.

My grief rose one night, and slipped from my chest like a small trembling moon. I thought my grief would break me but instead it somehow learned to glow, orbiting closer with every breath I survived. Now, I see grief for what it is, a fallen star that I picked up with my bare hands. One still burning with the memory of everything I’ve lost. Grief doesn’t vanish, it constellates. Grief sketches new patterns across the dark and teaches me that even my sorrow can learn the langu

My heart is kind even after everything, that is where my magic rests. That is where I store all of the love, gratitude and tiny miracles inside of my chest

I o utgrew the skin that once kept me safe. The air stung at first sharp with honesty, cold with possibility. Now I walk bare, knowing the world can wound me, knowing it can also witness me. And without boarders, I choose the risk of blooming over the comfort of never being seen.

I am the fog and the clearing. I am the trembling and the step forward. Confused and unsure, I might be. And still I choose to move forward, carrying the weight of my worries behind me.

I am no longer waiting to be chosen. I choose me.

If you see me at all, I hope that you see every shade my ache, my glow, and my unfinished becoming. If you see me at all, I hope that you know I am healing, I am relearning. And, I am enjoying my becoming.

I was born beneath a crooked moon, into a deck already dealt with trembling hands. The stars said hold on, and so I did even when the sky forgot my name. My body has broke and mended, a temple learning its own architecture of grace. There were days I thought the magic had missed me, that I was made only of what was taken. But the truth is, even ashes remember fire. I have learned that cracked teeth can carry prayers, and even flawed DNA can sing with divine defiance. I am not

Your worth was never up for debate. Not then, not now, not ever. Do you hear me?

Little flame, I see you. I see you shivering beneath the weight of a world too heavy for your small, bright hands. You thought the breaking was your becoming, that pain was proof you were unworthy of magic. But listen here, you were never the ruin you were always the spark. Every time you cried into the dark, something ancient whispered back to you. Every time you thought you were alone, your future self was screaming through the cracks, for you to hold on. You are going to g

yes to rest yes to rising late yes to gold hoops and silence yes to leaving before it hurts yes to softness yes to flame yes to not explaining why yes to what I love yes to who I am yes to who I’ve yet to become yes to every no, that saved my life yes to me.

I build mosaics from everything I’ve survived and call it art. I look at all the broken pieces of me, and I see a brand new start.

I am both the storm and the bloom, the ache and the afterglow.

The horizon is endless, and so am I.

My purpose? To burn the cages they tried to build around my name. To blaze through silence, to scorch the comfort of those who tried to contain me. I am fire. they cannot hold me.

I am not negotiable. My worth is not currency. My worth is a crown, it is fire, it is law. I bend for no one, bow to nothing, and burn the hands that try to measure me. I am unclaimed, unstoppable, unbound.

My touch lingers like honey on the tongue, a sweetness that burns long after it’s gone.

Some will not understand. But, that is proof you are speaking a rare language. Dare to be different.

I outgrew the cages you built for me. Now, watch me make the sky mine.

I bloom slow on purpose, every petal, deliberate. Every petal, mine.