I wasn’t built to be small
I was made with a blowtorch rather than a paintbrush,
And my tongue is more stiletto than taffy.
I am Fortissimo on a Tuesday,
and utterly deafening come Friday.
To love me is to dance with me as I am,
rather than trying so desperately to sweep me off my feet.
To love me is to understand that cutting me down to size is like taking a nail file to the Himalayas,
Arrogant that you can reduce something that only knows how to be vast.
There’s a lot of dull sandpaper in my wake.
you with lantern eyes lit by my fire,
I can’t shrink for you.
I won’t try
because I know what I was made for.