I am from peeling wallpaper and coffee stained counters/ From stacks of old mail hidden in obscure corners/ I am from firepits and naked Barbie dolls/ From books of majoc books told night after endless night/ To dwindiling pictures, whimsy and folly/ I am from long summer afternoons with the spy prince of Warrion/ The butterflies cupped in our hands seemed so everlasting and sturdy/ I am from tall grass and double fences/ From it's a long story and fireflies/ Revealiong themselves only to light my way// I am from naivety and burnt cookies in the microwave/ Fro big, blue tables and cubbies always filled with surprises/ am from sarcasm undetected and over-dramtics/ Bad, old habits put away inder the bed.../ most that is/ I am from blue duckies on the wall and looking up at the world/ No matter how tall it is I get// I am from cinnamon buns, Sunday school, and mythical four-leaf clovers/ All give off their own colors and sunshine/ From Reeses' Puffs and little brothers/ It's not a sandbox, it's a truck!/ am from nothing unusual and tarcoons/ From playgrounds and thoses beutiful, oh-so-elegant bouquets and dandelions/ I am from princess costumes and dance teachers in eagle // Personalties past, habits, old lies, and whimiscal summers/ All that I am from/ Put away in my box of used toys/ Shoved under the bed/ Seemingliy forgotten, but what is no longer seen/ And what is no longer felt,/ Only means that they are memories/ In existance onyl to be shrared/ Smiled at/ And to be laughed at.