Too Much…

My poetry’s brutal, uncompromising and raw,
You want it tied up in a sweet metaphor. 
With flowers and flounces, pretty and neat, 
A safe little package you happily greet.
You don’t want the facts with their edges that bite,
Or words that can bleed in the dark of the night.
I’m forced to live life so sincere and true,
And I won’t apologise for being too much for you. 

I don't pause to wonder if I should withhold,
In my black and white world I have to be bold. 
If I think it, I do it, I write and I post,
No hiding away from the things that hurt most.
My BPD impulses drive every line,
With OCD honesty forming its spine. 
For where is the value in soft, pretty lies,
When sugar and sunshine is just a disguise?
You can’t fight a stigma by keeping it hid,
When real disorders live under the lid.

And yes, in my days I keep quiet and still,
Not out of a shame, but an absolute will.
I don't want the questions, the judgment, the stare,
I stay in the shadows for my own welfare. 
My mind works in circles, no pause or retreat,
Obsessing and checking in endless repeat.
I draw in my boundaries, I refuse to yield,
Behind my own walls where I’m safe and concealed.

My brain is too much, my emotions run wild,
My rage and my logic, defensive, reviled. 
My control and resolve are heavy demands,
My endless dissociation out of my hands.
Because as a child my trauma was vast,
I built up a shield against ghosts of the past.
A fortress of armour, unbreakable, precise, 
Where always too much is the ultimate price. 

So if you can’t take it because you’re too brittle,
Walk away now—for I’ll never be too little.

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