When Scars Take Flight

The caterpillar never prayed— it coiled around the bark, turned aside the whimpers of wings a-flutter, and created a moat of silence. Promises? It made none— to itself or to the universe. Transformation was not a melody or a plea, just the still rebellion of survival. As the chrysalis cracked open, it wasn’t a triumph. It bore no grace. It was escape—raw, fierce, and unapologetically its own.