I am not enough
But I am too much

I am no prodigy.
These words did not flow
From my brain
Like blood straight from a deep purple vein

But rather
Trickled,
Drop by drop
Strained against the workings
Of narrow pipes
Clotted by shallow thought

These words did not shout
Did not cry with their first breath of air
Did not beat against my chest with hunger

These words were blue, born still
But words, I nursed you.

I am a mother,
A father.

Yet  my kin can not speak.
Only hum, remnants of a sad song, an old song,
One I couldn’t sing.

They are not the best, these words
Not my best.
These words are not enough.
But these words are too much

Too sweet

My words are soft,
Taste like honey against the palate
Rain others in praise,
Letting flowers grow at their feet
I spread the seeds

Too quiet

I let silence ring through me
My words often hum her tune
in harmony
And I let them be

Too raspy

As if choked on
mouthfuls of smoke
My words are pink and peeling  
But they do not revolt.

Because these words are too sweet, too quiet. Too me.

I am too much.

Too strange

A stranger,
Frigid air gives
Me warmth.
The crowd boils my bones clean

Too small

Childlike
I sink below your sea
Drowning, I can see the light
But it never shines upon me  but it never reaches toward me

Too soft
My stomach was stuffed in cotton 
My legs, water and sand

Too heavy but Too me to run now, to not expand.

Too quiet, too sweet, too raspy, too strange, too small yet too big.
.

I fill this space
Too much
But not at all.

These words fill this space
Too much but not at all.

I am not enough 
But I am too much.
These words are not enough 
But these words are too much 
We are not enough 
But we are too much.

But we is me.

I am not enough
But I am too much

But we is whole.
Too much fills not enough

I am whole
These words are whole.
We are whole.

Enough.