Where I'm From

I’m from Six months in a clustered, condensed, claustrophobia-inducing, Guidance office Learning that I’m normal. I’m from Nicknames: FATTY and PIG and ELEPHANT and WHALE That my dad spat at me Since I was old enough to learn I would have trouble running ‘the mile’ in gym. I’m from My mom patting my shoulder and Cooing, “It’s ok to make mistakes… You don’t have to be perfect.” (But that rule does not apply if you forget to do the dishes or Forget to text her back or Got less than an A in any class). I’m from Superb evenings spent alone in my room Writing Because I find TV boring and my family does not. I’m from The six year old who played Hang-man games against herself during bible studies Those bad, just bad, maybe even awful drawings I scribbled onto the back of church pamphlets Because I was forced to go And innately knew it was not ok To not believe. I’m from Never getting to go to the Reason Rally in D.C. Because my parents were not proud Of a proud Atheist. And from Never going to a Front Bottoms concert Because it was ‘crap music’. I’m from Never going out to unsupervised parties Because the answer Was never pretty. I’m from The bottom of the food chain In family Hierarchy because My mom pities my twin And my dad pities my mom; I pitied myself for far too long. I’m from Long car rides to here and from there With an iPod held to my heart Eyes shut tight With a symphony of images: Dragons; thieves; sirens; royalty Because I daydream like a crack addict . I’m from A temporary fear of hospitals After more than a few family epidemics at CHOPS and NEMURS and DUPONT. I’m from Keeping my promise to Johnny Cade to stay golden And Keeping in mind that Holden Caulfield warned me to never stray from the rye field. I’m from ‘Dad, it’s not ok to call me fat’ and, ‘Mom, I’m happy as an Atheist’ and, ‘Everyone, I’m not upset, I’m just an introvert. Please let me write in peace!’ I’m from “There’s nothing wrong with Who I am.” I’m from Six months in a clustered, condensed, claustrophobia-inducing, Guidance office Learning that I’m normal. and that My iPod is: My inspiration for The thousands of scribbled pages in My dresser And My sanctuary for a library of Bedtime stories I thought up But have not written yet And A New Hope for Crumbs of stories I never finished and the Poems shattered like broken glass that Are all I have to show from A dazed childhood.