Heat Is A Lie
It softens the edges of cruelty,
makes judgment feel like care,
makes exile look like protection.
It wraps the blade in velvet and calls it mercy.
I have stood in rooms full of warmth
and felt nothing but frost inside my chest.
Because warmth without understanding is suffocation.
Because heat without truth is manipulation.
They smiled as they sentenced me.
They prayed as they cast me out.
They said it was for my own good.
But I saw the fire in their eyes,
and it was not holy.
It was hungry.
Heat demands conformity.
It melts difference.
It punishes the cold for daring to remain solid.
But I did not melt.
I did not bend.
I did not become what they needed me to be.
I am the frost.
I do not lie.
I do not soften.
I do not hide.
In the cold, everything is revealed.
The breath. The wound. The truth.
There is no illusion in frost.
Only clarity.
So let them burn.
Let them bask.
Let them believe their heat is holy.
I will remain.
Sharp.
Clear.
Unmelted.
Because heat is a lie.
And I am the truth it cannot touch.
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