Chaos with Cait

I was not made for metal skies and clocks that scream time into my veins. I was born of dew and dawns light, a creature of wing and whisper. And yet, here I am stumbling across concrete that does not bloom beneath my feet. The world does not believe in me anymore. They trade wonder for Wi-Fi, magic for money, starlight for screens. And still, my aura hums electric, still my hands trail sparks when I touch what others call ordinary. It is lonely, to be a fairy in a world that

The greatest show of gratitude is to live today as though the gift might vanish by dusk.

Fear said stop. I whispered no, then I shouted it.

Do not confuse my fire for something you can hold; I was never meant to burn politely.

I dream in colors that do not exist, naming each shade after the way you once said my name.

A sunbeam brushes my shoulder, suddenly I am golden, suddenly the world feels like it wants me here.

Each sunrise whispers, “Try again, but wilder this time.”

The world calls it delusion and yet, I like to call it devotion; to the impossible, to the maybe, to the yet to be.

Uncertainty seduces me, its mouth tastes like lightning.

I move through morning like a feather caught in a breeze, untethered, drifting, and drawn forward by something I do not need to name. The...

Breathe. The stars have already conspired for your becoming.

I hunger for love. I hunger louder than their cannons, louder than their venom, louder than the knives they set upon my plate. I will not...

I am starving. Every day, starving. The world sets the table, silver platters gleaming, Knives and fork’s polished with venom. Hate is...

It doesn’t take you all at once, It nibbles. A half night’s sleep here, a fragment of appetite there, a rib of laughter you can’t quite...

It began quietly, not with parades, not with speeches, but with the simple sound of doors opening. Neighbors met in the street, their...

Life feels different, when your mind understands that your body is simply an hourglass. Sand, slipping through unseen fingers, each grain...

The past lies below me, heavy, and still whispering.

Breathing is my quiet rebellion, my softest survival song.

Curiosity opens doors that logic never finds. Logic draws the map, but wonder steps off the path. Curiosity is the doorknob to adventure.

She bled quietly, then bloomed louder than the wound.