Intelligence Burns

People say they love intelligent people… until they actually have to deal with one.

IMHO, people think “intelligence” and only want wisdom, not friction. Illumination, not combustion. The aesthetic, not the realness. They want the glow of insight, not the fire of confrontation.

For years, I gave people both. I was fast, sharp, analytical to a fault. I wielded my mind like a blade and called it honesty—never cruelty, but rarely compassion. Empathy is the last thing I’ve been integrating into my life. Granted, this is my deepest flaw, but hey… most of my upbringing was self-defense dressed as intellect. A trauma response with a high IQ. A burning sword that burned down bridges, solved a lot too. Thankfully, some friends, family and a few associates stuck with me, lol.

You might not relate or understand what I mean, but picture this: you’re talking to a self-proclaimed “perfectionist,” and within seconds you notice they’re anything but. Or someone who keeps repeating the same cycles, self-sabotaging—te mataste tú mismo (you killed yourself)—and you can see the pattern in real time. Do I call it out or nah? Can they handle the heat? Probably not. That’s what people don’t get—intelligence isn’t just thought speed; it’s a flood of information. Patterns, causes, outcomes—loading in real time. And when your inner system runs hot like that, the flood feels like heat. Let’s not pretend most people are built for that temperature.

The truth is, being “smart” isn’t glamorous. It’s exhausting. It’s a constant loop of observation and restraint—watching the world lag two beats behind your thoughts, holding your tongue so people don’t think you’re condescending when you’re just processing faster. That restraint breeds loneliness, cynicism, and sometimes danger. If not checked and reined, it will make you wrong, a lot, too. And if you’re like me—someone who actually enjoys hours of reading, learning, integrating new paradigms, building new skills like you’re popping pills—it’s worse.

Eventually I realized: intelligence without direction is friendly fire.

Intellect without empathy is like heat without aim—it burns everything, even inward.

So now I treat it like Cyclops from the X-Men. The power’s still there; the heat hasn’t gone anywhere. But I wear a visor. I choose where I aim. I decide when it’s safe to remove the filter. I used to scorch people in arguments, thinking I was “helping.” Now, I pause. I breathe. I aim. I learned to contain it. I aim before I fire. That’s maturity in my book—same fire, better target selection, or none at all. Sometimes the most intelligent move is restraint.

I don’t try to “fit in” anymore. I look for people and environments built for my temperature—the ones who don’t flinch when I get passionate, who can spar without taking it personal, who know fire can forge, not just burn. Everybody else gets the smile-and-wave treatment.

That’s it. No moral, no lecture. Just calibration.

Being intelligent isn’t about being right—it’s about being responsible for your power.

Not just bright—precise.

Not just smart—steady.

They want your light? Fine.

But remember… intelligence fucking burns.