Creative Overexcitability

They called it
too much.
Too fast.
Too loud.

They measured my mind
against the stillness of others
and called it
disorder.

But they never saw
the way stars scatter
behind my eyes.
The way a single word
can bloom into galaxies
if I touch it just right.

They did not know
that my thoughts arrive
like avalanches.
Not to bury me—
but to carve new paths
through the quiet.

Yes, I burn.
Yes, I break.
Yes, I feel everything
with the volume turned
all the way up.

But isn’t that a kind of miracle?

To be wired for wonder?
To be lit from within
by the impossible?

My mind is a wildfire
with a heartbeat.
A supernova
that refuses to go quietly.

I will not shrink
for those who flinch
at brightness.
I will not dim
to be digestible.

Call it what you want—
I’ve made peace
with the blaze.

And when the world says
you are too much,
I will say:
you are not enough
to hold me.