I’m from exaggerated fables of people who had lived before me,
Ridiculous with bravery and passion
That their names are known centuries later.

I’m from peeling birch trees and reaching for the night needle-shedding pine trees,
Watching over shallow rivers with fears
Of the breaching seaweed wrapping around me and pulling me under.

I’m from yellow labs and lint rollers chasing after me,
Only an attempt to try and combat houses run by
Dogs.

I’m from bose and cadillac,
Treated like a princess until
I do something not mentionable.

I’m from my mistakes,
My successes,
The places I consider a home away from home.

I’m from my past and soon enough,
My future.