I am from laundry soap, from itchy blankets and socks.
I am from tired hands kneading dough, rolling and cutting and shaping into pasta.
I am from the morning mist in Maine,
clean smelling and refreshing,
rolling in from the forest.
I am from ink and paper,
from paranormal romance novels and from old book stores.
I am from the heat in Florida,
only able to be refreshed by rain or ocean.
I am from smirks and giggles and snorts,
given and received from across the biology class room.
I am from black hair bows, winged black eyeliner and black chunky glasses,
all necessary parts to make up my look.
From late night chats and blueberry pancakes I hail.
From sitting in green grass in the summer while weaving flowers into my hair,
talking of birds, flowers, Circe, college and Osiris.
I am from a fond smile, stolen hallway glances
and failed quizzes.
But I am more than and not from my failures.