There was never enough of you to go around;
But I dished you out into small servings
For the girls around the table.
I told them how happy I’ve been
Full and giddy,
Sharp and bleeding,
Like I pressed the rose too hard
When you handed it to me.
You’re worried I’ll spread you too thin
Like jam on a piece of toast.
It’s me who’s been spread too thin.
Too much, too many,
You think too highly of me.