I am from the blackberry bushes in my grandma’s backyard.

I am from the flowers on her husband’s grave,

the ones she placed this month on St. Patrick’s Day.

I am from the green Chicago River,

being dispersed to the lake.

I am the current, ready to suck up anything in my path.

I am from SeaWorld orcas who don’t have a voice.

Silently pleading for help while hope is being rejected.

I am from the salt water burning your nose

while silently walking the beach with dad

who just got mad at the rest of the family.

I am from the eighteenth story balcony of my condo,

looking upon the people as ants and picturing what their life is.

I am from the high seats in biology

or the unorthodox desks in English

or the rolling chair by the vent in geometry

all where I found out who I really was.