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.
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