From the echoing gunshots and gun powder on my clothes.

I am from violence.

From getting kicked out of our home by the Serbians.

I am from being terrified.

From moving silently behind burned-out cars abandoned on the streets.

I am from chaos.

From wishing I wouldn't see someone else I love get taken away.

I am from severed relationships.

From being afraid—living forever with flashbacks.

I am from haunted memories.

From traveling to see my loved ones once per year.

I am from yearning.

From moving to an unusual, new country.

I am from awkward beginnings.

From missing Pristina, Albania.

I am from being lonely.

From languishing in an unfamiliar town.  

I am from isolation.

From the echoing gunshots and gun powder on my clothes.

I am broken.