It hurts to become —
to fill a newborn space.
I shift into the expansion
but part of me stays in this place,
where I know every corner, texture, and shape
Why does growth fragment me
if it should make me whole?
It spreads me thin like atmosphere,
too amorphous for any mold.
Where do I fit and why does it hurt so much
Maybe I am the container,
and the universe is in me.