I used to be from hot dinners, hot fires, and hot chocolate.
I used to be from classical music,
heartwarming stories before bed, and homemade dinners.
I was from magical holidays that never seemed to cease,
from a warm and welcoming house that I called my own.
I was once from forests that were mammoth compared to me, rushing creeks,
silent ponds and places I knew by heart.
But I’m not from them anymore.

Now I am from cold rooms, cold shoulders, and cold personalities.
I am from miniscule rooms I can’t breathe in,
silent houses rather than a place full of laughter.
I am from arguments that make me clever,
arguments that prepare me for whatever I would need as a lawyer,
but this isn’t a courtroom.
I am from independence,
going days at a time without seeing certain people.
People who I once viewed as my heroes, role models, and parents.
But it won’t always be like this.

Someday, I will be from a happy home,
one with hot chocolate and no cold words.
I will be from a place that I am welcome,
where my cleverness and witt will be used for jokes rather than a defense.
I will be from exploration of the world,
rather than one spot where I feel stuck.
I’ll be from love once again.