Bonsai

With wires wrapped around my limbs,
I bring my arms up to the easel.
A mist directed at my head,
I do my best to force a glow.
My roots are cramped in shallow soil.
My world, a portable bit of clay.
I'm shuffled about often
but I always find new air to breathe.
Some trees know wilder weather than I
So who am I to complain?
Some have solid earth to nurture their roots
Some have drought, some rain.
But I am my own gardener
I will define which way I grow.
I will reach, lean, curve my own way.
I will take this simple existence
And, within these humble confines,
I will make of myself something beautiful.