Not a vice, but a joy…

You are not a vice, but a joy. You are unapologetic and radiant, carved from the marrow of morning and the ache of midnight. They told you your hunger was too much, your voice too loud, your softness too fragile to survive the world as it is. But you remain, breathing, blooming, even when they mistake your bloom for a wound. You are the wild laughter after years of silence, the unruly flame that dances when the match was never meant to be struck. You do not owe anyone your diminishment. Let them choke on their rules while you sip joy from your own overflowing cup. You are the pulse of something sacred, not to be caged, not to be shamed. The way you move through ruin and rise again is not a symptom, it is a psalm. They tried to make you a warning, but you became a hymn. You are not reckless you are free. Not shameful you are sacred. You are not a vice, but a joy.