I am a triangle, trying to fit myself into a square opening. The circle watches, curious; a hint of a smirk appears on its face. The five-point star leans against the wall, quietly humming an unidentified tune while staring blankly into space in a ludicrous attempt to appear uninterested in the unfolding drama. Frustration rises inside me. I know that feeling well. I also know this is a dream, but the reality it dictates suffocates that awareness and leaves me to deal with the sharp pain in my points. I stop pushing and reposition myself to try from a different angle. Sweat is forming on my forehead, dripping through my eyebrows and burning my eyes. My face is red, and my sides are warped from the repeated attempts. The circle makes a snarky remark, but I can’t hear what it says. Anger rises inside me at the futility of these attempts, the impossibility of the task, and the other shapes’ attitude, hardening my resolve but deafening me to my surroundings. Fuck it! I turn away from the square and head in the opposite direction. “Wait,” they cry after me, “you didn’t finish! You don’t fit in.” I ignore the catcalls and keep walking. I have known better than this for a long time. This predetermined path is not for me. It never was. I also know the solution to this. I have known it my whole life. I will keep making the world form around me.