What if your dining table remembered the forest? This spoken-land acknowledgment isn’t ceremonial, it’s personal, physical, and deeply inconvenient. A poem that walks barefoot through the house, naming the cost of comfort, and whispering sorry to every floorboard.

To be watched is not the same as being seen. A piece about visibility, misunderstanding, and the deliberate rebellion of withholding yourself.

A soft-spoken reckoning. A ritual for when the world comes calling.