Mother, how do I grow? (Day 35 of 100 -- poetry challenge)

I’ve never been lost.
I wonder what that feels like...
it seems desperate,
constrained,
trained.

I have wandered out of bounds,
                      stepped over the line,
            pushed past the rope.

I have meandered in the wood;
had a side-step-slide or two,
been out past curfew.

I have walked so far that the
land changed and the people
were all different
and so too
was
I.

A membrane is a canvas.
                Imagination the pigment.
                          A thought is a door.