Less – The Secrets of Wynter Rayne

I wish I could be less—
less noise, less need,
less flood pretending to be a person.

Every thought comes sharp-edged,
every feeling claws its way out.
I ruin the quiet.
I make too much of everything.

I wish I could flatten myself,
press out the highs, iron down the lows,
become manageable.
Digestible.

But I don’t know how to stop bleeding emotion
into every sentence I speak,
every silence I fill.

I am the echo that won’t die down,
the ache that never fades.
Too much heart,
too much mind,
too much everything that exhausts the room.

No one asks for a hurricane
when all they wanted was a breeze.