Dramatic, too ecstatic, too young, too psychotic, too loud, too independent, too free, too unapologetic.

Too many times I’ve been too many things.

But never enough to be, the only thing that brings, together, the too many pieces that are too big to place in the small boxes, too defined.

Into too many expectations that you have of me, to be.

Too many times I wanted to be your perfect woman and wear the skin, too tight to fit but, too pretty in the mirror when I stand too far to see how this can’t be me.

Too tall, too short, too fat, too curvy. Too big, not big enough. Too cold, too ugly, too aware, too invoking, too unique.

To be, just another girl in your world filled with too little thought, too little maintenance to hold onto conversation that leads to mental stimulation, to unworldly imagination.

Too much to comprehend in an existence, too dependent on existence to take a step back and listen, to the heartbeat of your instincts.

Too much of everything and enough of somethings, to see I’ve got too much power within me, to be held back and not see, the beauty that defines so much of me.


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