Too Much

You feel too much.
You share too much.
You think in sharing maybe understanding will come.
But it's too much to put that on anyone.
Your best friend says, "Maybe try being less open -
I hate saying that to you because that's not what you should be,
But maybe you should be."
It's hard to bare your soul, eyes swollen.
It's hard to name your flaws, and then have others name them back to you,
As if you didn't just name them.
As if you don't beat yourself up already a million times over a million different moments
For those very same flaws.
You want to care. You want to be let in to someone else's pain.
But they have to let you in.
You can't just break in.
Just like you can't expect someone else to break into yours.
You deserve to be walked with. But not because you're broken. Because you're worth it.
And walked with means different things.
Talks in rooms about all the what could be's, if you could just be better.
Or sitting with you in your dark and just being.
Breathing.
Accepting.
Fighting.
Together.
Losing the things that bring you joy leave you questioning
Where is the meaning?
Where are the silver linings when clouds are darkest?
If the purpose in your gifts is to give them away,
And you're not able to give,
What then?
Are your passions less potent when you're weak? Less valid when you're vulnerable?
Must you be perfectly whole first?
You are too much.
But somehow you are never enough.
I guess "normalcy" falls somewhere in the middle,
And you seem to miss the mark every time.
This weight you carry is overwhelming.
And words and hugs and talks will not lessen it.
We all carry our own great sadness.
I wish I knew yours, and you knew mine.
It would not be too much.
Perhaps some of us are just meant to be creatures of the shadows.
That is why when the light shines in us,
It shines so brilliantly.
Maybe you feel too much.
Or maybe, you just feel.
But to feel means to be alive.
And that is something worth feeling too much for.