An After Poem by Lyndsay Rush, “She’s a Bit Much”.

They say “You’re too emotional.” Is it like a crack in the glass / and not
the shimmer kind / or the stained ones? Like softness is a weakness /
not the soil that grows things? As in, crying when I’m happy / or sad
from bad news? Or do you mean crying when I’m angry / when I’m
proud / or when I’ve held it in too long? Feeling everything— like a
thunderstorm with skin / joy so loud it startles people / grief that swells
in public spaces? Do my emotions learn to carry tissues in my purse
and apologies on my tongue? They’ve said: “You’re too intense” / “You
need to chill” / “Don’t take it so personally”, as if I could flip the switch—
I would. But maybe the world would be kinder. If more people took
things personally / if more hearts broke open instead of shutting down.
So yes, I’m too emotional. Too aware. Too deep. Too tender.
And I’d rather feel a bit too much
than nothing at all.