You tell me I am too passionate,
Like that is something to be shameful of.
But I will never water down my self-respect
Just so you can keep from drowning in your own ignorance.

You tell me I am too passionate,
But I am other things too:

I am the ripest peach’s juice that drips
down
your
chin
Like sweat, on the
Hottest day in August.

I am the burning sand that your feet can’t bare
To feel on your soles, at the otherwise
Pleasant beach.

I am the blistering on your skin, for
When you spend too much time in the sun.

But you will never ask her to stop burning,
She does not burn for you.