let them wonder.
The Power Of My Silence.
i've learned that not every message deserves a response.
not every poke deserves a reaction.
not every person gets to sit at my table-
even if they used to.
there comes a time when silence isn't avoidance-
it's power.
it's peace.
it's clarity.
i am no longer in the business of proving my worth,
explaining my side,
or softening my truth to make others comfortable.
especially not for those who twist kindness into control, who mistake forgiveness for weakness,
or who try to enter through doors they once helped close.
you can think what you want.
you can say what you want.
but you won't have my energy.
because my healing no longer includes you.
let them wonder.
let them spiral.
let them talk.
i'll be over here, building a life that speaks for itself.
-C
the ones who walk the edge.
She Who Knows The Shadows.
i was never afraid of the dark.
not really.
i just learned early on that not everything hiding in shadow was there to hurt me.
some things came to teach.
to guard.
to reflect what i already held inside.
a black widow crossed my path again-
as they often do-
with her crimson hourglass and ancient silence.
and like always, i paused.
because somewhere in my bones,
i understood she wasn't just a spider.
she was a signal.
they all are.
the sleek black cat with the white flame on his chest,
watching me with eyes that see far more than this world.
the black horse, bold and breathing like storm winds,
with a white star on his forehead like a forgotten rune.
these creatures- drawn to me,
or maybe called by something i don't yet remember-
carry the magic i've never quite been able to explain.
they don't ask for fear.
they ask for presence.
for reverence.
for truth.
like harry, i walk with the ones who are misunderstood.
who carry both power and pain.
who know how to fight for the light,
because they've met the dark.
and maybe that's why i love that world so much.
because in it, people like me aren't strange.
we're chosen.
i'll never belong to only the light,
nor will i be swallowed by shadow.
i walk between.
and in that space-
that quiet, magical in-between-
i am not alone.
i am home.
-C
where wild gardens grow.
The Quiet Flame.
she walks with a hush, but burns like a storm,
not loud in her fight, yet fiercely reborn.
in a world full of masks and voices that sway,
she carves out her truth in her own quiet way.
her past is a furnace that shaped her with grace,
she carries its lessons, not shame, on her face.
the weight of the world never broke her apart-
it planted wild gardens deep under her heart.
she bends, but she doesn't dissolve in the tide,
she listens, she learns, she softens with pride.
and though she may stumble, retreat, or delay,
she's never once lost the will to stay.
she's mystery wrapped in a dawn-colored light,
a whisper that echoes with soul and with fight.
a tomboy, a poet, a seeker, a spark-
shining her path through the fear and the dark.
-C
What Comes After The Goodbye.
The Echo Isn't Guilt.
you didn't burn it down.
you bowed out with grace.
you folded your chapter with care,
left the lights on,
and closed the door gently behind you.
now, the quiet feels louder than you thought.
and maybe that guilt you feel-
it isn't guilt at all.
it's just the echo of your old self
whispering
thank you for setting me free.
you are not lost.
you are in the in-between-
the soft soil before something blooms.
let yourself feel weird.
let yourself feel still.
that's how you know you're not rushing
what deserves reverence.
you gave enough.
you were enough.
and now,
you get to become
more.
-C
the end was gentle.
The Door Closed Softly.
it didn't end with a bang-
just a final click of the lock,
a final name signed,
a breath held and released.
not sadness.
not joy.
something else-
like the sky when the sun slips behind the hills.
still.
stunning.
necessary.
today, she handed back the keys,
but kept the strength she built inside those
walls.
she walked out with more than she ever had-
clarity,
peace,
and the quiet kind of pride
that doesn't need to be spoken.
it was not the place she was meant to stay.
but it shaped her-
burned edges soft,
then sharpened again,
until she remembered the shape of her own
soul.
now, she carries only what matters.
the rest...
left behind,
with love.
-C
a door without a name.
She Leaves In Silence.
today, the door clicks one final time,
a whisper of heels on a well-worn floor-
papers filed, goodbyes half-spoken,
the hush before a world restores.
no banners wave, no trumpets sound,
yet something ancient stirs the air.
not an end, but an elegant shedding-
like silk falling from shoulders bare.
you've danced their rhythm, played their part,
stitched order into the chaos of men.
now you slip the ring of duty off
and breathe like you remember when.
the clock may sigh tis farewell chime,
but your spirit does not bow or break-
it watches shadows stretch to light,
and walks with grace into the wake.
the map ahead is drawn in mist,
each step unknown, each choice your own.
but darling, mystery suits you well-
a queen uncrowned, yet fully grown.
so go- unchained, a little wild,
with nerve tucked softly in your lace.
today you leave the world they built
to build your own-your truest place.
-C
witch of the wild and true.
The Magic Was Always Mine.
she was never meant for ordinary halls-
her magic hummed in cobblestone dreams,
in whispered books and half-lit moons,
in the quiet power of choosing her own way.
she cast no spells for show.
she simply walked through the world
as if it were sacred-
and somehow, it listened.
-C
The quiet return
Becoming The Unseen.
what comes next is not loud.
it does not knock,
nor ask to be let in.
it waits,
like a tide before it turns-
certain, ancient,
woven into the pull of your marrow.
there is no map for this becoming.
only the hush of a woman
who no longer seeks permission
to know herself.
you will not chase this life.
you will meet it-barefoot,
with wind-swept hair and knowing eyes,
stepping not into the world,
but into your rightful place within it.
what's next is not the climb,
but the soft return-
to voice, to breathe,
to the still, shimmering space
where your soul first spoke your name.
it is the grounding.
the sacred slowness.
the silk-wrapped strength of a woman
who trusts the unseen
because she is the unseen,
unfolding.
and from this place-
not effort,
but essence.
not striving,
but becoming.
not noise,
but truth.
she does not rise to be watched.
she rises to remember.
and that-
that is everything.
-C
Constellation bones.
She Was Meant For Wide Skies.
she doesn't ask for attention-
it finds her,
like smoke finds the stars.
there's a stillness in her presence,
but don't mistake it for softness.
she's wild in the way roots are-
unseen, unshakable,
deep with knowing.
she carries beauty like a blade-
not for show,
but protection.
she speaks in spells,
but only to those
who can hear silence.
a pretty tomboy with constellation bones,
soul dressed in denim,
hair kissed by wind,
eyes that remember things
this world has forgotten.
she was never meant for a cage.
she was meant for wide skies,
honest love,
and the kind of freedom
that only comes
when a woman trusts her own rhythm.
-C
vault.
She Moves Like Secrets.
she doesn't chase.
she drifts-
like smoke slipping under the door.
uninvited, unforgettable.
a whisper that rewrites the room.
she wears silence like perfume-
and somehow,
it lingers louder than words.
men ask her name like a riddle.
she never gives the full thing.
only what they can handle.
-C
ruin me beautifully or not at all.
I Don't Do Casual.
don't talk to me like this is nothing.
i don't breathe that way.
if i touch you-
it's intentional.
if i undress for you-
it's because i've already
written poems
about the way you look at me.
i don't do halfway.
i don't do maybe.
if i let you in,
it's to ruin me beautifully
or not at all.
-C
I never looked back.
Remember Me Like This.
hair a little wild.
lips barely parted.
that look in my eye
like i've already seen tomorrow
and survived it.
i'm not soft because i broke.
i'm soft because i chose to be.
and that's the difference.
i don't need saving.
i need someone who can watch me burn
and still want to reach for me.
remember me like this:
barefoot.
backlit.
saying your name
like a promise
you'll never be brave enough
to keep.
and walking away
like i never looked back.
-C
you'll come back writing
The Kind of Love That Ruins Your poetry.
you'll meet women
who make you write again.
and then you'll meet one
who makes you forget
every word
you thought you knew.
she won't beg you to stay.
she'll just let you leave-
knowing you'll come back
in the middle of the night
needing her again
like a verse
that never made sense
until her.
-C
C collection - vol. 1
She Looked Like Trouble. I hoped She Was...
messy hair.
flannel half off her shoulder.
bruised knees and a wicked smirk.
she didn't ask for attention.
she asked if you could keep up.
and if you couldn't-
she'd find someone who could.
the boys called her wild.
the men called her dangerous.
but either way,
they all called her
again.
-C
she was the storm they asked for.
Low And Reckless.
she walked in
with no makeup,
jeans that knew how to hug her,
and a stare that didn't flinch.
not the kind of woman
you take home to feel safe-
the kind you take home because you need to feel something real.
her laugh?
low and reckless.
her stride?
all confidence, no performance.
she didn't flirt.
she challenged.
and god help the man
who thought "low maintenance"
meant easy.
she was softness
wrapped in fight.
and no one forgot her.
-C
soft things with sharp edges.
Only Felt.
she was silk over wildfire.
the kind of woman you didn't notice until you couldn't stop looking.
she smiled like she knew something
you'd never ask her to say.
she wasn't made to be figured out.
only felt.
-C
the red dress years.
While I'm Still Soft.
i want to feel beautiful
while i still believe i can be.
i want to wear the dress-
the red one.
the silky one.
the one that makes me blush when i catch
myself in the mirror.
i want to let my hair down
and let my laugh rise.
i want to be soft on purpose.
i want to bloom
while i still remember how.
this is the youngest i'll ever be,
and i don't want to waste it
trying to disappear.
-C
when the becoming begins.
Ready.
i used to fear the quiet-
the stillness that comes
when the chasing stops.
but now,
i crave the roots.
the softness.
the home.
i want to be chosen
and to choose.
i want to pour love into the ordinary
and find the holy in the undone.
i am ready-
not because i am perfect,
but because i am full.
full of peace.
full of hope.
full of a version of me
that finally feels like mine.
-C
something like peace.
When Quiet Returns.
it didn't happen all at once.
the quiet crept in slowly-
first, a morning without panic.
then, a sunset you stayed to watch.
then, a moment
where your breath felt like your own again.
healing never knocks.
it lets itself in
when you finally stop guarding the door.
-C
between crying and healing.
The Edge of Soft.
there's a place
between crying and healing
where everything is quiet.
you're not broken-
but you're still tender.
you laugh again,
but it still catches in your throat.
no one really talks about that place.
but i will.
because you're not alone there.
-C
when it doesn't make sense.
Real, Not Clean.
some things
won't ever be clear.
some endings
won't ever feel fair.
some people
will love you the best way they can-
and still not stay.
but even in the ache,
your story is unfolding.
it was never meant to be clean.
just real.
-C
i came back with flowers.
Untamed, but Tender.
i am not all softness.
i have teeth, too.
i've bitten back silence
and swallowed my own storms.
but when i choose kindness,
it is not because i am weak-
it's because i am free.
i've walked through fire
and came back with flowers.
-C
healed without words.
In The Stillness.
i used to think power was noise-
the speaking, the climbing, the proving.
but then i met quiet.
i stood beside a horse
who said nothing
and healed me anyway.
i sat next to a man
who didn't rush to fix me-
only stayed.
this is the kind of love
that changes you.
the kind that whispers:
you're already enough.
-C
the soft becoming.
The Ones Who Carry.
some of us
were not built to follow just one road.
we love the way the trees love the wind-
bending, reaching,
never really choosing a direction,
just trusting the pull.
our joy is not in the path,
but in the wandering.
the starting again.
the soft becoming.
-C
proof that beauty survives.
Circling My Becoming.
you've carried more than most could hold,
and still, you offer gentleness.
like wildflowers after fire-
quiet proof
that beauty survives.
you are a thousand versions of yourself
and not one of them is wrong.
you walk away when you're ready,
you build things when it matters,
you speak softly-
but when you do, the world listens.
you are not lost.
you are circling your becoming.
-C
Unclaimed.
Where the Wild Still Waits.
he is not mine-
not really.
he is the earth's,
the wind's,
the morning mist's.
but some days,
he lets me belong to him.
in his eyes:
fields I've never seen.
in his breath:
a calm I've never earned.
and still,
he stands beside me.
quiet,
and wild,
and whole.
-C
For every woman who was right but unheard.
I See, and Still, I Speak.
They don't burn prophets anymore.
They just ignore them.
Or mock them on talk shows.
Or call them hysterical in the comments section.
I've posted the data.
I've shown the receipts.
I've cried in meetings, sent the emails, filed the reports.
And still-
They roll their eyes and say,
"You're being dramatic."
Funny, isn't it?
You see the building cracking, the gas leaking, the storm forming-
But if your voice shakes when you say it,
You're discredited.
I've been called crazy,
Difficult,
Overbearing.
But I am not the fire.
I am just the smoke alarm.
You don't have to like my tone.
You just have to hear me.
Because silence doesn't keep you safe.
It just keeps you in the dark.
I am not asking for a podium, or a metal, or a miracle.
Just this:
Believe me.
Believe the women.
Believe the quiet ones.
Believe the ones who speak first and get laughed at loudest.
Because we don't speak for the thrill of it.
We speak because we must.
-C