I am from chalkboard paint, books, words, quotes
from adventures, far away; romance, clusters of books with dreams lying about.
From a worn, antique, beloved, junk covered desk
and half-empty paints, every acrylic, oil, watercolor, waiting patiently.
From the music that breaks me, the music that finds me,
and the music that tears me apart, be it simple or complex.
And the lifted, floating, pillow covered bed where I let myself rest.


I am from rocks on shelves in the grey living room,
and the small kitchen filled with plants and savory smells.
From the too-small dining room for the too-big family.
From the cracked entrance at the back of the house,
and the abandoned, peeling, cold front porch, never used.


I am from cool poles with colorful silks,
and bruises, from dropped tosses, that never go away.
From sunburns, M&M’s, Popsicle grins, squeals and cheers at the home runs.
From a gym full of girls, bored but excited to do what they love.
From a weekend haunt, where we all come together, for food
and fellowship after a week of solitude.


I am from emerald mountains, welcoming me home,
from crashing rivers, where I swim beside the slimy stones.
From the sad history that will never leave me.
From the rides, the popcorn, and the ear splitting shrieks,
and the buildings that make me sad, like happy for deep people.


I am from shamrocks and kilts, bagpipes and lassies,
from a line of teachers, laying claim to the country through education,
from summer and fall nights spent at games, cheering on siblings,
and from a family so huge never is everyone inside,
and a warm dining room filled with peach-luster plates.


I will be one of billions in a world of war,
and where being close tears us apart.
Where prestige is sacred, the buildings are old,
and the honor is humbling.
Where I can go to the heart of the issue,
and tell what I see and know with text.
Where I cannot be questioned for having so much power and knowledge,
and where I needn't worry that I am too confined.