Too Soft and Too Much

I don’t know how to ‘be’ anymore.

I’m too fucking much for it all/selfie of author who is over exhausted just existing

I had come to this place after my last relationship that I promised I wouldn’t hide who I was anymore.

My light had gone out. I had grown so small.

I just wanted invisibility. To be quiet. To disappear.

And I had done all this work, and got lucky and found a matchbook.

Sparked another fire inside me

I was alive again.

There was air in my lungs. Blood pumping through my heart. My blue butterfly eyes fluttered open again. I could hear and move to the music again. Tears returned when I laughed so hard.

But now that I am alive.

I’m all too much for it all.

I’m told to be silent.

I’m told to move on.

I’m told the things I have to say are inconsequential.

I’m told I just ‘mansplained’ something. (Seriously.)

And when all I ever want to talk about is how meaningful it all is.

I’m too soft for the game.

Too deep to be matched.

Too excited while others are apathetic to my words.