I&#039;m from

I’m from dull October evenings

Of a light drizzle against a hospital window

Of a tidy room and its sole occupant

And a man who waited outside with roses.

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I’m from endless skies and not enough crayons

From hand-me-downs and bouganvillae

The patter of feet on a gravelly path

And humming that filled the air like perfume.

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I’m from cardboard boxes

Duct tape and the smell of ink

From home to home to home

And decades old furniture

That’s stood the test of time and fate.

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I’m from the dust between pages

From thumbprints on spines

From pale limbs and sunshine

That streams in on lazy afternoon.

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I’m from words that scarred

And some that healed

From words treasured in velveteen journals

And forgotten on newspaper margins

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From laughter and smiles and sighs and tears

From a solitary soul in a crowded room

I’m from my dreams, and from my fears

I’m who you do not always see.

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I’m from darkness that seeped into the light

Indigo nights, lavender mornings

And cottony clouds, that caressed my wounds

And hope that tomorrow will dawn a little brighter.

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I’m from what I made of myself

And some of what they made of me.

A/N – I’ve never dabbled much in poetry, but this was a fun exercise! One of my most honest pieces to date – I hope you’ll like it!

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