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I’m not a “lightworker.” I’m a lightburner.
I didn’t come here to comfort. I came here to illuminate and scorch everything that hides behind illusion.

My light isn’t gentle. It’s honest.
It doesn’t smooth things over. It doesn’t charm. It refuses to let lies survive.

I’m not the type to whisper transformation.
I’m the kind who walks into a room and suddenly, nothing can stay hidden.

I don’t need to lead people.
It’s enough that I stand in truth.

I’m not easy to swallow.
Because I am the flame that tests whether your masks can survive the heat.

I don’t ask to be understood.
I’m not looking for permission to exist as I am.
I don’t shrink to make anyone more comfortable.

Because I don’t pretend to be light.
I am light.

Even if sometimes… I burn a little.

But let’s be clear:
I don’t burn to destroy.
I burn to reveal.
To clarify.
To purify.

I am the warmth in the cold truth.
I am the blaze that clears dead roots.
I am the fire that says: “Enough pretending.”

I’m not here to be liked.
I’m here to be real.
And real light? It’s not always soft. Sometimes it leaves ashes — but also space for something true to grow.

So no — I don’t pretend to be light.
I am light.

Even if I blister your illusions on the way.

And that… is exactly how it’s meant to be.