I am not a shape.
I live, I grow, I change.
I am not a shape.
I do not belong in a mold,
suffocating in the dark box,
pressed into stillness.
External influence, expectations, the needs of others,
try to push me into form.
They want to linger in the familiar outline,
to keep me from changing.
No.
No one can push me to be what they want.
They cannot shape what I create to their desires.
I will not shrink myself to make others comfortable.
Change is uncomfortable.
It hurts.
Yet that hurt is the price of being alive.
Once I lay inside the shape that was dug for me,
I am dead.
I am not here to color inside the outlines created.
I am here to grow past the borders.
I am free.
