I was fine with my space,
Quaint, like a cocoon
Enough room to stretch my roots
And feel safe.
Enough air,
To get by. 

The soil was good
The sun was warm
The food was fine.
Enough, to get by. 

Then the sun shone brighter, stronger, lighter, longer.
And I’m growing faster than I planned.
 I can’t seem to get enough,
air, food, water, warmth.

My roots are cracking through,
as their powerful fingers grasp
To find enough . . .

I’m hungry, I’m thirsty,
Struggling to eat, drink and dance.

And just when I stop
Writhing to blossom

The universe gives me just what I need:
s  p  a  c  e.