They say I’m too much—
too much heart,
too many tears
that fall before I can stop them,
before I can wonder
if I should even try.

I wear my emotions raw,
unfiltered,
like skin torn open
to the air—
vulnerable,
aching with everything I feel
and everything I can’t hide.

I don’t know how to be less—
how to quiet the storms inside
or lock them away
where they won’t break through
like waves crashing
against the shore of me.

I feel everything—
the weight of every word,
the smallest touch,
the silence between moments.
I can’t turn it off,
can’t pull back
from the flood of thoughts
that surge and drown.

And they say I’m too much—
but I don’t know how to be anything else.
I don’t know how to shrink
the fire inside
into something small enough
to be palatable.

Maybe I am too much,
but I’d rather be this—
alive,
full of all the mess and the beauty,
than quiet,
empty,
incomplete.