I’ve built my kingdom through exile,
not with bricks, but with silence,
not with armies, but with aching truths.

Pain was my compass.
Faith was my weapon.
And truth the only crown I ever wanted.

Each scar a sermon.
Each scab a witness.
These wounds aren’t decoration they’re scripture.
A reminder it was real.
All of it.

I don’t make art for comfort.
I make it for resurrection.
For those who have burned and risen anyway.
For the ones who bled quietly.
For those who heard the call in the dark
and walked toward it alone.

I’m not here for the crowd.
I’m here for the seekers.
The ones who’ve been marked,
but still believe there’s light beyond the wound.

If you feel that
you already belong.

CAESAR AUGUSTUS- MARCH 30