less is more

brush against me and i’ll break

Less is more

That’s what they tell me

This plaque stitched to my chest

So heavy

They threaded knowledge through me

That I am too much

And simultaneously not enough.

The one who helped me be myself

Is told they should refrain

From encouraging my silly, foolish ‘ways’

But,

“I don’t know how to be any less” I squeak

As my heart cowers, scared to take a peek

Except I never squeak I rave

I’m silent or I rage

And even as I age somehow this fury never dissipates.

*

“How can I be less?!” I cry, as they leave me in their dust

While I try to win them back with the gentlest of touch

My body but a vessel

A shell that barely holds

This overspilling self

Too soppy, no, too bold

Too old of course to act this way

But please, which way is that?

Bursting at the seams with love

Compensating for a lack

No gesture is too grand for me

Yet no one cares to take my hand

I’m not afforded things like that.

*

Still, I try each day and plea

To become a better version, see,

I’m still so unsure how to be.

My feelings flood but never trickle

My heart punctured, I feel it prickle

Stretched out like an old leather glove

Could it be I’m not meant for love?

Cradle softly this injured duck,

It’s neck weak and feathers mussed

Yet, you straighten me up, hand over a brush

I’m so tired of holding my own head up.

Longing to be touched at all, I blush,

It’s clear now

I’m not made for a good love.

(an unedited poem from 2024 that i never shared. every element of it still rings true today. enjoy).