I have to make myself smaller,
To live in your world.
You press me between pages,
And sand me down,
You shrink me and rinse me,
Til I'm suitably stunted.

You hush me,
You shush me,
You say I'm too loud.

I have to be smaller,
If I am to be with you.
You squeeze me into a bottle,
And then push in a cork.
You chip me away,
Until the day that I fit your life.

But I am a mountain,
And I won't bow anymore to you.
I am a foghorn
And will be silenced no more.

It is not the fish that is too big,
It is the pond that is too small.