I’m from a paint-chipped two story home built in 1913, 

one neighbor and an overgrown garden,

 a factory and train tracks.

I am now from a home with houses surrounding, a home once lonely in a field, owned by my great grandmother, now transformed into a suburban neighborhood.

I am from time outs in the corner next to our laundry shoot, where I sat and waited in silence and stillness, entertaining myself by playing with my hair.

I am now from staying out past midnight,

hardly being home,

my parents no longer watching my every move.

I am from making homes out of cardboard boxes, 

the treehouse in our backyard, 

fighting with my sisters over whose turn it was to swing,

summer bike rides to the lake.

I am now from worrying about my future,

caring about my grades and looking at colleges,

spending my afternoons and weekends studying. 

I am from a rotary telephone stuck to the wall,

cathode ray tube with five channels,

watching Toy Story and Discovery kids on our viewfinder,

pizza rolls and powdered Nesquik.

I am now from a generation where eight year olds have smartphones,

social media defining who you are and how other people see you,

technology taking over our lives.

I am from weekly, after school visits to my grandparents, 

Neosporin and Disney themed bandages,

playing house outside with the neighbor and barbies during the winter,

yearly pool parties,

eating ice cream sundaes on the front porch,

baking cookies with my Grandma’s old standard mixer.

I am now from seeing my grandparents once a year,

the neighbor now in college,

passing their house with memories of my diminished childhood.

I am from gold stars at school,

cartoned milk and graham crackers,

a mismatched outfit my mother chose the night before,

not taking to boys (the chance of catching cooties!),

everything and anything without embarrassment.

I am now from appearances being more important than personality,

Being afraid to talk to others in fear of being judged,

anxiety and no longer being carefree.