I am from me thinking about you.

I am from one house that broke into two, unbroken memories too distant to remember.

I am from four families and shared time, tiny papers fitting more into my overflowing schedule.

I am from always running from one place to the next, burning holes into the soles of my shoes.

I am from never sitting down, standing and pushing my way through a painful day.

I am from trying to be in two places at once, speeding along until a better method finally arrives.

I am from one eight hour shift to the next, doing everything I can to help you.

I am from dirty scrubs and worn out eyes, working until the day is done and you are sleeping.

I am from always choosing someone else over me, my needs a pebble next to your stone.

I am from pleasing others, choosing to never put myself first and always put you.

I am from stretching myself to my breaking point, cracks filling up the outside of my hard exterior.

I am from disappointment, hating that look in other people’s judging eyes who don’t understand.

I am from restless nights that end too soon, sleep at the tips of my fingers but never in my hand.

I am from always being early, from a mother who never is.

I am from me thinking about you.