My roots are raw & exposed.
I was yanked out of the ground
And set aside, forgotten to be crafted.
I knew a home once,
A lush wood with foliage
And forest sounds, dewy & humming.
I am now in solitude & drying out.
The life of my ecosystem-exiled.
What to do now,
But to find a pot of soil and call it "earth."
Find a small, modest room with generous light.
Let creatures lurk around corners
And fill the air with spices & music.
I once stood still in a forest.
Now, I stand independent
Growing & collecting light.