I am from the things that make me who I am.
From dirty white Converse, and chunky, colorful sweaters.
From the house, with the bright yellow Beetle parked in the driveway.

I am from baby powder messes and red lips.
Dressing up in princess, fairy and witch costumes and putrid 80’s prom dresses.
Taking pictures of me and my sister, then those photos scrapbooked.

I am from field trips to the Milwaukee art museum.
Drawing the paintings of sheep dogs and red, black and teal shapes,
trying to get each line perfect, so they looked like the original.

I am from Brewers games.
Eating cotton candy and drinking delicious root beer.
  Obtaining a foul ball and acquiring a smile across my face.

I am from cross country races.
The 5K I struggled to complete.
  Sweating and spitting, but to my surprise, finishing.

I am from car crashes.
Screaming sirens and questioning my carelessness.
  The bulging, blue bruises.

I am from a four-hour car ride.
Carrying brown boxes in my sister's new apartment.
Wishing her good luck, then realizing I am the only child left.

I am from Chinese takeout on Tuesdays.
My mom calling me from work to take my order,
  sitting around and watching The Bachelor.

And I am still from the things that make me who I am.
From dirty white Converse, and chunky, colorful sweaters.
From the house, with the bright yellow Beetle parked in the driveway.