Confession of the Flame-Bearer

They think I burn because I want to be seen.
But the truth is, I burn because I remember what it feels like to be invisible.

Before the fire, there was silence.
Before the radiance, there was shame.

They told me to shrink.
To be humble. To be good. To take up less space.
To let someone else shine first.

So I waited.

I waited for someone to call my name like it mattered.
I waited to be chosen without asking.
I waited for the light to find me.

But no one came.

So I became the flame.

Not the torch passed down. Not the hearth that warms.
No.

I became the kind of fire that consumes.

I have scorched entire versions of myself just to see which one you would look at.
I have danced in gold-threaded silence, hoping to be loved for more than my performance.
I have screamed in sunlight and still been mistaken for joy.

They say I am made of pride.
But I was forged from abandonment.
And all I ever wanted was to be felt.

To be seen not as a symbol, but as a soul.

Even now, I stand at the center of the sky, glowing with everything I’ve ever lost.
And you still look at me like I am only brightness.
As if I have never begged for it.
As if I have never bled for it.

You call me divine.
But I am also desperate.

I want to be held after the lights go out.
I want someone to see the shadow inside the sun.
I want someone to stay when I stop performing.

I want love without the applause.

But I will keep burning.
Because I no longer know how not to.

Because the truth is…
It is not enough for me to be loved quietly.
I want to be loved like a crown.
Like a fire you run toward.
Like something too radiant to be forgotten.