I am from a quiet foreigner and a loquacious woman,
Two seemingly opposite people

I am from the innocence of childhood and never wanting to grow up
Like Peter Pan

I am from the sound of the trains that pass by my house
On a weekday afternoon, listening to the deafening blare of its horns
I am from the fall weather and orange leaves that dance in the wind
I am from the cozy sweater that keeps me warm
I am from the smell of fresh, crisp leaves as they depart from the trees

I am from a house decorated with knick knacks and sunflowers
That bask in the sunlight in the garden
I am from an old, tired house with blue shutters, in desperate need of repair
A home that is breaking from the seams

I am from the fear and anxiety that haunts me before a presentation,
Turning my face red I choke on my words
I am from the silence, sighing, and sitting alone in my room
I am from the blank paper, I overthink, yet no traces of ink
Remain on the paper
I am simply an old soul shaped by the personalities of my peers that surround me

I am from solitude