I come from a winter storm,

on a moon-lit Friday.

The snow glistened softy

in the glow from streetlights

in the Electric City.

I’m from late at night,

mere minutes from midnight.

From the constellations,

that lined up with the planets

in a perfect array.

 

I’m from wire glasses,

broken many times.

I’m from small pink ballet slippers,

evolving into larger jazz shoes and foot thongs.

From pirouettes in thunderstorms,

and the sweet smell of wet grass after the storm,

I’m from the feeling of rocks beneath my feet

from an unpaved driveway.

I’m from the lilac bush in the yard,

only visible to those who sought it,

and from the satin aroma which it gave off.

I’m from the green and brown grass stains,

mixed with the red of my scraped knees,

from playing ninjas in fields.

 

I’m from A pluses,

bathing me in a proud haze,

as I had tried my best.

I’m from the snare of a drum,

the sharp staccato 

of wood meeting drumhead.

From the melodious piano notes,

of which I sang back.

I’m from memorizing scripts,

long rehearsals,

and the dreaded tech week.

 

I’m from broken childhood innocence,

the price

of growing up too quickly.

I’m from the loss of a loved one,

and giving up too easily.

I’m from behind the glass,

placed between all of us

on March 13th, 2020.

I’m from the pressure to be the best,

and falling behind.

From having the right friends

at the wrong time.

I’m from the suffocating grip

of rage and self-sabotage.

A grip that soon dropped me down 

to what felt 

like rock bottom.

 

I’m from the long awaited help,

which I so strongly refused before.

From falling in love unexpectedly,

and the idiotic smile,

given to me by my idiotic friends.

I’m from the unique smell

of thrift stores, 

holding new pieces of my life.

From Ultra Rosa Monster cans

and red, green, blue, and white

89 cent slushies from Turkey Hill.

I’m from my hair whipping in the wind

as I drive to cheer practice,

blasting Steve Lacey and The Smiths.

From the worn in AirForce mids,

covered in doodles 

whenever boredom strikes in class.

I am from the story of the ugly duckling,

and I am becoming a swan.