Too Much

Words by Jaime (she/her), 22 QLD  

 

I was fourteen when I was called a bit much.

By the time I was twenty, this had escalated to too much.

I am too much.

Those people are right.

And my muchness is large and unwavering.

 

I am too much in the way that

When new years eve blinks open its sleepy eye,

A year of resting interrupted,

I fill the pockets of my cheeks with

Stars and fireworks and confetti,

So that I glimmer all year long.

 

My voice is a bird,

Too much in that it soars above crowds,

Cracks into ears,

I make myself heard.

No, not a screech,

But a song that cannot be ignored.

 

I offer my heart, over and over,

To friends or lovers,

Never scared that I with each piece I give

I will break myself smaller.

I am too much, so I am never scared of being too little.

 

My blood is champagne,

I can nearly always find a reason

To bleed cheer.

My limbs are bells,

Ringing with every swing.

And my smile is a monsoon,

Drowning every room.

 

I am too much,

My personality knows many languages,

But it isn’t proficient in speaking apologies

when it overflows into rooms and out the door.

Big things demand space, and they

Will take it whether it is wanted or not.

 

It can be scary to see such a big muchness thing,

This animal they can’t control,

And it is easy to think this feral untamed muchness

Needs domesticating,

Quieting,

Calming to feel

Peace.

They think there is quiet in peace,

And that peace can only be quiet.

 

But I am a woman who

Has been called too much.

I don’t respond to shushes.

I sit front row at my own show,

Dress up for my own pity parties,

Cheer and scream and wallop!

I listen out for crashing waves and thundering hooves

And smile as I echo their call,

Letting myself reverberate out into the world,

A woman rippling outward

with her own gravitational pull,

And know my muchness

Is not too little,

Nor too much

But is at peace knowing it is enough.