You smell the smoke—
so what do you assume?

That I’m dying?
That I’m weak?

Do you think you know fire
just because you’ve run from it?

I don’t flicker.
I don’t beg.

I seethe.

What did you think light was?

A comfort?
A cure?

I don’t chase the dark.
I hold still
while it blinks first.

This isn’t hope.

What would I hope for?

Permission?

You don’t like what I illuminate—
so whose lie are you defending?

I never asked to burn.

But now that I do—

Who’s going to stop me?