Chaos with Cait

This is for the ones who went still. To the ones who turned to quiet when the world grew too sharp to touch and, to the hearts that learned to beat softly, so no one would hear their fear. This is for the bodies that mistook stillness for safety, because sometimes it was. You were not weak, you were wise. You slowed yourself to survive the storm, you hid your light to protect the flame. And though the world called it retreat, I call it endurance. Because even frozen, you were

The world is vast, yet in a child’s gaze even a pebble becomes a planet.

What if we sat down at the same table the weary, the wounded, the wandering and broke open our ribcages like loaves of bread, passing each other warmth instead of war?

Hate does not vanish when spoken, it multiplies like a stone dropped into water rippling out until the whole shore shakes. Hate sharpens hands into weapons, and turns mouths into blades. Hate teaches children to inherit wounds they did not ask to carry. Hate hides in the casual shrug, and in the moments we do not question why cruelty is easier to choose than care. But, hates consequences do not hide. Oh no, the consequences bleed into our streets, they fracture families. Thes

Every time I choose hope, the universe writes my name in brighter ink. A declaration that I am still here, that I have been here, and that I belong here.

She is not just earth, she is home, and she is holy ground. A living prayer beneath our feet. We were meant to be Earth’s stewards, not her thieves, but we traded her grace for greed and guns. Every tree here is a testament. Every river, a promise. And still, we poison the sacred with profit.

Soft does not mean breakable, It means I choose not to shatter you. My tongue is lethal and my words will eat you, if I so choose.

In the rubble I found a language only healing understands. It speaks to me gently, I let it guide me we walk together, hand in hand.

There are nights when silence feels like a predator, waiting behind every door frame, breathing in rhythm with my own. I eat dinner with the echo of my fork, I listen to the buzzing lightbulb of an empty room, I wonder if walls ever get tired of holding someone who talks mostly to themselves. The world tells me solitude is noble, that independence is a crown. But crowns are heavy, and some evenings it presses like a storm against my skull. I miss the simple certainties: a han

Greed wears a crown. Hunger wears rags. War feasts. Peace starves. Racism loads the gun. Sexism pulls the trigger. Hate watches. Laughs....

We call it progress. We call it freedom. We call it survival. But strip back the layers, and what festers beneath are the old sicknesses,...

Every headline tastes of ash, and every street corner reeks of rage. I watch people swallow hate like bread, and call it survival.

I want to stay. God, I really want to stay, but something in me trembles at the thought of forever, like it’s a door that might close too...

fall, hard, and heavy. Bones rattling, lungs empty. Lie there, listen to the dust settle, hear the silence that tries to name you...

The waiting room buzzes, fluorescent and cold, a place where suffering is barcoded, where every cough is a dollar sign, where a pulse is...

The unknown hums, a vast expanse without maps, without markers; only shadows and stars. Fear calls it empty, but hope calls it infinite....

Some people need to feel what loss feels like when the choice is no longer theirs. You are deserving of taking the ball into your own...

My voice did not arrive soft, It cracked through silence like bone through dry ground, trembling, unsure, a slow crescendo rising from...

I stitched joy into my scars, not to hide them, but to remind myself of how far I've come.

I’ve been told to toughen up since I could barely speak, as if kindness were a crack in the armor, as if softness made you breakable....