On Living in My Own Skin

My temple is adorned, but I am met only with shame.
My head holds a crown, but I am told it is too much.
My hands bear the weight of the rest, but I am told that is my job.
My cry is left unmatched, but I am told to quiet down.
My voice becomes too quiet for me to hear, and it is then that my perfection is realized.

Did you know that my love is too big to contain?
Were you aware that dancing is my love language to myself?
Have I ever told you that I know too much to keep it inside my mind?
I feel my body too much, and there is no way to get out.
I am simultaneously too much and not enough.
And there is not a way to express this.
So, I rock and fly and move to show my love, my wonder, my mind.
Being a bird with the body I have is a blessing and a curse.
I strive to soar, but my wings are hands, and flapping gets me nowhere closer to the sky than I
was before.

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