I wonder how they do it
Those immaculate girls
With butterscotch hair and honeyed smiles
So sleek and streamlined,
So very contained
Gliding through life without a care,
They are the definition of grace.

My life is more haphazard
My room a bomb site of to do lists
My hair wild and frazzled
My shirt untucked
And my eyes bright-
Not good bright, though,
Not sweet sunlight bright,
Feverish, they dart with static-
My hands pirouette through the air
My teeth slightly crooked but smiling broadly
Dark circles under my eyes
And a liberal spray of spots on my face
Because who has time for face paint
When the mornings are reserved for catching up on the sleep you lost
Exploring the universe in your mind?

My words from my poems to my texts
Are long unending sentences
And stop-starts
Littered with exclamations!!
And I swear I'm articulate
This explosion you're hearing is vomited onto a page
A direct translation for a brain that flits and stumbles over itself
I beg of you to like me

My laughter bursts into your personal space
And I do too
I always get too close-
I come on too strong, apparently
I love too much, too hard and too fast
I fall far too easily and break my own heart
And drive people away
Because I'm not aloof or cool or distant
There's no thrill of the chase with me
Just honesty
And an eagerness to please.

I lurch between seeing these
As my most wonderful assets
And my greatest downfalls.
But *******
If you are one of the people who has made me believe the latter
Sure, I can be intense
Sure, I can be hard to love
But you have never known loyalty like mine.
Never will you find such passion and intensity
And that's a ******* good thing, you hear me?
That's a good thing.
I am vibrant and alive
Where you see cloudy days
I can find a kaleidoscope of colour
My energy comes not from coffee
But from this white-hot centre of my heart
This supernova colour-clashing burnout explosion of me.

And it's a ******* honour
To stand in my presence
And feel my warmth.