The Real Me
No, I have always been this intense.
Always.
I just wrapped myself in cellophane to make myself an easier pill to swallow.
I was hitting the brakes and the gas at the same time — of course I got nowhere. Of course I am so much further behind than where I could be by now.
I just destroyed the engine trying to hide and wrap up my intensity.
If I love — I love hard.
If I hate — I hate hard.
If I do something — I put my heart and soul into it, even when others think it is the dumbest shit I could possibly do.
If I don’t give a shit — I fully commit to not giving a shit.
If I study — I study so hard that people won’t hear from me for two months.
If I create — I do it loudly, and I just dump all my fuckin’ crazy ideas out until I make something work.
If I laugh — I laugh hard.
If I cry — I do it even harder.
And it is not something people around me get to cherry-pick from.
The same force carries the endless light I can bring into a room and the darkness people don’t want to face.
So no, my intensity is not something new — I just wrapped my heart and soul in cellophane to make myself more socially acceptable.
I just stopped hitting the brakes.
And I don’t care about the speed limit either.
Like it? Good. Jump in. I’ll give you a ride.
Don’t like it? Good. Stay out of my way.
Fuck it all.
I won’t make myself less intense anymore.
The Sun doesn’t ask permission to shine.