Everybody wants soft — soft edges, soft words, soft apologies.
Soft keeps the peace. Soft sells. Soft makes sure no one gets their feelings bruised.
But sacred isn’t soft. Sacred is steel — sharpened to a razor’s edge by Truth.
It cuts you free from the bullshit you were born into.
Being sacred doesn’t mean being gentle, compliant, or digestible.
It means being set apart.
Your boundaries are holy ground, and not everyone deserves to tread there.
If they want smooth roads, let them pave their own path.
Soft bends until it breaks.
Sacred stands tall even when the room winces.
Sacred is the refusal to collapse into palatable shapes just to keep others comfortable.
So no — I’m not here to be soft.
I’m not here to tuck your ego in and sing it lullabies.
I’m not here to trim my fire down to a candle so it won’t scare you.
I’m here to be sacred.
And sacred sometimes rumbles like thunder.
Sacred sometimes slams the door.
Sacred sometimes feels like a gut-punch that knocks the lie out of you,
leaving you doubled over, panting — maybe even retching — but clean.
If you wanted soft, you came to the wrong fucking philosopher.