I was from manipulation, a bulls eye blaring red naming me a target.
From empty vows that with each hit, the impact of the let down diminished hope—
seeping into my mind and eating the ideas of what the promises were.

I was from screaming walls that echo each furtive corner.
From a black hole of books sucking me in for hours at a time—
isolated hours to protect myself from the war going on beyond my closed door.

I was from pain so deep it curls in my chest and nestles in my stomach.
From my house that cracked under the pressure and fell into pieces at a court rooms doorstep—
the beginning of my high school career became the construction of a new home.

I’m now from reveling in the fierceness of a thunderstorm.
From dark hours staring at a ceiling full of stars, forgetting the grey— 
hurricanes streaming from the ceiling down my cheeks—neglecting sleep.

I’m now from my past does not define me.
From stitching gaping wounds evolving into scars on the mind and heart—
scars sunlight shines through from each stroke of paint to a euphoric sigh of laughter.

I’m now from thinking with compassion and acting on comprehension.
From composition that flow from my fingertips onto paper—
to scattered perceptions into concrete recognition.