I do not burn to be seen. 
I burn because staying unlit
was killing me.
Slowly.

There is a quiet violence
in choosing yourself
after years of going unwitnessed.

My magic moving like gasoline,
stumbling through cracks in floorboards.
Seeking all kindling the world offers.

It waits in the space between
what I feel
and what I allow.

I became soft enough to bend,
strong enough to endure.
I stopped begging for warmth
and learned
how to burn.