I am from the intoxicating smell of wet paint,

from moving boxes left and right across the empty rooms

and from living like an hourglass ready to move to a new home...

I am from tedious, tiresome, trite towns,

from whispers in the halls

and from new girl jokes...

I am from my mom roaring like a lion for my brother and me to decorate the bland home

from watching my Dad’s face sink from his traveling

and from listening to fights in the kitchen traveling through the vents …

I am from never having a home town,  

from no childhood best friend

and temporary rooms, friends, and hobbies...

I am from planting peony flower beds with my mom in a garden for the eighth time,

from running away from the frightening buzz of the yellow and black insect

and from fighting for the red popsicle with my brother in the driveway…

I am still from the intoxicating smell of wet paint,

from moving boxes left and right

and from living like an hourglass ready to move to a new home...