“Who made you this way?” 

“Why do you think like this?”

“Where are you from?”

Welcomed by the spring air, crying babies, 

and beeping monitor alarms.

Warm incubator heat radiates down on my 

breakable, rice paper skin.

No loving hold, No happiness and joy, No celebration.

Fear triumphed, 

24 weeks wasn't enough.

Noisy streets, ambulances roaring by, gunshots pounding and crackling as sirens awaken,

the city crisp air hiding the heat from the morning sun.  

Pre-packed lunches await on the granite counter,

simple math questions answered the night before,

arts and crafts projects home and piled up,

the uncertainty of each day.

Cries goodbye, laughable memories, 

and tight unbreathable hugs, piling into the car, holding my life on its four tiers. 

Two hour drive 

bumpy roads

grassy fields smiling back at me like never before.

Seemed as if I was in a new universe,

a new town, a new  state, a new life

nothing like before.

Loving friends, loving family, and loving town.

Feels familiar, comfortable, and true.

The place I was meant to be in, the state I was supposed to live, 

the people I was supposed to meet. 

“Who made you this way?” 

“Why do you think like this?”

“Where are you from?”