I am from a private school of 60,
prospering academically, yet rarely wiping away his look of disappointment.
From fighting, divorce, and remarriage,
then public school, introducing me to the vulgar world.

I am from seeing the tops of heads in the hallway
until puberty hit the rest of the fifth graders.
From harassment and fake friends,
who helped me evolve.

I am from 30,000 feet high,
where language is the barrier.
From closing my eyes and picking a place on a map,
destinations like technology; eternally changing and evolving.

I am from camp, July to August,
despising country music, but belting it without hesitation.
From the soft hum of the washing machine
one floor beneath me on Thursday evenings.

I am from a house of expectations,
where Sundays weren’t authentic.
From the plan that college comes next
despite MY desires.

I am from empty houses,
even though I have four parents instead of two.
From “You’re on your own tonight”
turning into days of independence.

I am from the mindset that I am the provider
instead of being provided for.
From living financially unconsciously,
and buying hot tubs out of impulse.