More Than Enough

Who are you to say I am too much?

I have laughed like the first morning sun,

breaking over the horizon, casting gold

across dew-covered fields and sleepy rooftops.

I have loved with the fullness of spring’s bloom,

petals bursting open, wild and reckless,

spilling their colors onto the world

without fear of running out.

I have grieved like the autumn leaves fall,

slowly, gently—until they don’t,

ripped away by unseen winds

and scattered without ceremony.

I have raged with the fury of summer storms,

thunder rumbling through my chest,

lightning striking without apology,

tearing through silence like a force of nature.

And I have hoped, quietly,

like winter’s first snowflake,

drifting softly through the air,

whispering promises of new beginnings.

I am not too much.

I am as vast as the seasons,

as real as the earth beneath our feet,

as alive as the fire inside every breath we take.

Who are you to say that my depth,

my chaos, my beauty,

is more than this world can bear?

I am not too much. I am enough.

And I belong here—just as the ocean belongs to the shore,

just as the storm belongs to the sky.