Sometimes I feel small. Tucked away tight,

silently pressed between the invisible.

It doesn’t feel right, anchored down deep,

pebbles pinching every corner of me.

Where is my big sky?

Where is my pleasant place?

I want my lot.

My cup.

My portion.

So I’ll let the wind through and I’ll remember it:

how I kept shape, how my frame remained.

And I’ll grow beyond it.