Chaos with Cait

The sky was extra beautiful today. And I, equate that to you being up there.

Tomorrow is never promised. And I, am tired of living like it is.

My dreams, once sharp as glass now shimmer soft, and shapeless. Still, they have not left me.

Who do you think you are? ghosting me so frequently. “Ghosting” is a bit harsh. Ok. Fine. You have grown comfortable walking through my doors like they’re revolving.

Break free, love. Let fear fall like old petals that you’ve outgrown. You were made to shine, and the world has been waiting for your color.

Pickles, tiny little hearts in brine, thank you. For the salt, the sour, the garlic and the crunch. Your small green selves are testimony that even a ghost can keep something alive. Perhaps it is love that keeps my heart beating. Perhaps it is pickles. Either way, I am grateful.

Somewhere beneath all of my aching, a soft voice whispers you will not always feel this way.

I believe that you are beautiful. I believe that you are strong. I believe that you are courageous. I believe that you are kind. I believe that you can do anything. I believe that you can heal. I believe that you can shine. I believe that you can move forward. I believe that you are divine. I believe in you.

I let myself feel it all, because every emotion belongs to my aliveness. And, my aliveness is what keeps me here.

My heart yearns for stability. I crave independence, and freedom with every breath I breathe.

Love yourself a bit more today, you deserve it.

The moon speaks to me, she walks with me, she heals me. In all of the moon’s phases she is still so worthy. Even when only a sliver remains, she never doubts her place in the sky. She whispers that same truth to me, reminding me that even in my broken hours, I still shine.

The tide pulls, and I follow. A willing exile from the shores edge.

I pack disappointment the way other people pack lip balm. A displeasure of self sits in my purse, like a special seasoning that I must sprinkle onto every meal. I find myself to be difficult, always ready for war. Except, the funny thing is, there is always only one person on the battlefield, me. I rip myself to shreds, like I used to tell the teachers my dog did to my homework. I am exhausting, two million thoughts a minute, and I must acknowledge all of them.

She is a waterfall disguised as patience, a mountain wearing softness. The world calls her a contradiction, and yet magic calls her balanced.

Society taught me that shrinking was polite. So now, I choose to be loud, on purpose. I have no desire to fit in, or shape shift to fit into molds. I have a story to tell, and it will be my way that it is told. I am tired of shrinking, sick of second guessing my own voice. Our society needs new diverse voices, and so I bravely share mine.

Fairy girls can never be owned. We are hard to catch and impossible to hold. Dreamers with wide wings and hearts lit like lanterns in the wind, dancing in colors no hands can follow. We are a haunting sweetness never lost, never yours. Just never meant to stay.

I am what feels to be a hopeless romantic. I do not just crave love, I crave the softness that makes the world feel survivable.

I don’t just want connection I crave it, like oxygen that I’ve somehow learned to ration.

Reality haunts me, but my dreams keep me alive.