A cup to small

I was born in a cup to small, Not enough room for me to grow. I don’t grow much, I just sit in quiet and such. Alone I usually am. My cup is dirty. And broken, I’ve hit the glass, In hopes to make it bigger, But when I do I shatter. I burn it all comes out. And I realize, I wasn’t born in this cup. I put up these glass walls myself. And this cup that is, Dirty. Small. Shattered. Is me.