I am from plant pots and the life in them

I’m from the scratchy speckled wallpaper
With the baby green vines

The pumpkin patch
At the apple orchard is where I’m from

I am from the trees and their sappy branches in vacationland

From the sticky peanut-buttered hands matching big hazel eyes.
I am from the musty tee cabins;
their stairs creek with every step

I’m from the long blond hair and sun-kissed skin; always sunburnt on our cheeks

I’m from not letting go, and collecting rocks and shells

I am from the countless old ladies and gentlemen with whom I’ve grown up
the walls dull on color
I’m from mental illnesses
That people don’t fully understand, that I don’t fully understand

I’m from traveling back and forth
Always returning home
Always to a new world

I’m from disappointing words and actions, mistakes
From small decisions with big effects
A large outlook on a small world.

Div. 2/3 Creative Writing (Conway/Huber).