Light Me Up

They came with matches
long before she ever sinned.
Called her dangerous
for standing tall,
for speaking plain,
for refusing to kneel.

They weren’t searching
for truth.
Only firewood.

And she—
she was made of kindling.

Every time she smiled
instead of screamed,
they mistook it for weakness.

Every time she forgave
what begged to be burned,
they believed
she didn’t know how.

But she did.

She learned to hold
the flame steady.
To let the smoke rise
without flinching.

To walk barefoot
through the blaze
and not break.

So strike your match.
Say her name with fire
in your throat.

She is not afraid
to burn.

She is afraid
to vanish quietly.

So go ahead.

Light her up.

Just know—
she will blaze.

And you—
you will watch.