Chastened

I am too much for men.
For when I meet him and unveil what passions lie
and twist, it is like agony, what he sees, and he is intoxicated.
It is neither beauty nor intelligence that catches the eye
it is only the strength of feeling, for no one living yet
has felt to the depths of these wells
afraid to look, to reach yet wanting
nothing more than to drink
I am too much.
I walk away from him
as turmoil rises and these tumultuous seas
break all barriers of thought and function
his tepid eyes and tepid mouth and tepid hands
these things I scorn, sweep them aside
for tepid cannot stand
against that which devours
I am too much for you.
You cannot hold what you cannot tolerate
nor capture what is intangible
neither light of day nor dark of night
will shield you from the
wicked truths held inside
this, me, for what I am
and what I need
is nothing you can see to give.
You are not enough.

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