The fire in me burns bright. I feel like it always has.

Resilient, tenacious, brave: those words make me me. 

With a flaming, bold red on my outside, I threaten and come off strong.

My actions are blunt, and I hold the ability to quickly damage—even demolish. 

My maintenance isn’t exhausting; however, what you put into me I strive to give completely back. In exchange for love, care, and toil, I provide warmth, comfort, and friendship. 

Even then, my outer flames are still dangerous. My spirit, my being, intimidates those who are not familiar with me.  

But, if you get to know me, my inside is actually similar to the golden hub of the fire. 

Welcoming, rare, hardworking: my inside completes me. My golden inside is my guide, and it nourishes my life and actions. It acts as a reliable foundation with which to build myself off of.

My golden inside also directs the activity of my fire. It reassures my fire to remain calm in unfit environments. My inside encourages my fire to shine and blaze when necessary—when I need to protect myself. As long as my inside, my gold, doesn’t become tainted, and as long as I stay true to it, I’m destined to achieve success. 

But, no matter how sturdy and healthy my golden guide is, it will never be able to—and I will never be able to—protect myself from rain. Rain is inevitable. I was reassured of that fact in science class however-many years ago. 

The sun heats the precious water on plants and their leaves and in bodies of water into water vapor, and the result of this rising water vapor is the formation of clouds and eventually rainfall.

Like the plants, I too depend on something: oxygen. My light cannot burn, and I cannot shine without oxygen. Without purpose, perseverance, and care, I am nothing. I am utterly lost without an outlet with which to give myself to, and I need a mutual outlet that equally repays my endeavors. 

But I can’t escape rain. 

I can’t escape the outside elements whose goals are to put out my fire, my light. I can’t escape the experience of offering my all to a purpose that won’t grant back the same. I can’t escape the agony of experiencing a deprivation of being understood: of being accepted. 

Maybe in the end, all I do is burn. 

But isn’t there beauty in strength? Isn’t there admiration in being unapologetic? 

When I allow the negative mindset to sink into my thoughts, when the rainfall is neverending, my fire weakens, my flames shorten. I easily burn out. Any action that is even slightly sinister I perceive as detrimental, and my flame’s existence waivers. My confidence and fearlessness waivers.

But I’m nobody without me. 

I can’t allow the clouds to form, and I can’t veer off of my purpose’s road. If I remain faithful and hopeful, those who truly appreciate my flame, and every single thing that accompanies it, will accept me. Those who don’t will be weeded out, and my flame will finally be properly nurtured. 

My flame, my light, will unapologetically and proudly shine. 

So maybe in the end, all I do is burn. But maybe that’s just me. And maybe that’s enough.