inside of me i have been told there is so much to make much of
but in so much as i can never think of much to say-
thank you so much!
that means so much
you look so much like your mum!
don’t eat so much.
don’t think so much
i love you, like, so much-
it’s only so much of a muchness anyway
talking much ado about nothing-
when however much i try
i can’t say as much as i want.
much as that hunger in my stomach claws at my throat, much like it burns to open up and let so much come spilling out-
“wow, don’t make so much out of nothing!”
i know that i would much enjoy to be
or rather, to tell much younger much smaller much brighter but in much the same way so very much me
that being pretty
pretty much only leaves much to be desired
so much for that! but they say that
too much of a good thing will kill you anyway
so why want for much more?
(is this a bit much?)