Too Much

I worry I am too much.

I worry I am a being

Overflowing herself into a world unable to palate her.

In classroom corners and time outs,

existed an education that abundance isn’t valued in little girls.

We are origami,

Intended to be folded into something smaller, prettier,

Malleable to the will of another’s hands.

This made me a flight risk in my own body,

Taught me I am an intoxicating idea,

Yet, a dizzying reality.

I worry I am too much,

An indulgence enjoyed sparingly.

I worry people will define me by things I could not control,

As if I am an anthology bound by flesh,

Something that cannot define itself.

The truth is, I would rather be barbedwire than a welcome mat,

Something utterly unapproachable,

Rather than a woman who takes her abuses lying down.

Not again.

I worry I am too much.

Amidst my internal whiplash,

My brain soothes my heart:

The wild does not exist to be tamed, broken, made into something less than what it is.

People do not swim in oceans to drain them,

Nor climb mountains to make them small.

You are a woman undevourable.

You are not a sight to behold, but a force to be reckoned with.

Vastness is only scary when seen through small vision.

Do not define yourself by scarcity.

Disregard it all together.

Don’t bother disregarding the people cursed with these small visions,

because they will fade from significance.

And then you’ll meet people who will not tame your ferocity but marvel at its vibrancy.

People who will not paralyze your spinning world but dance along side it.

To them,

You are not too much,

For them, you are you

And that is everything.

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