Yulisa Vargas Mejia
I am From
Soy de la tierra de los Estados Unidos
De la sangre de mis ancestros Mexicanos
From the overpowering heatwaves of Guadalajara
And from the coldness of Colorado
From the great mountains to the hills of greens
Soy de la pop music de la famous Ariana Grande
To the ranchero de Grupo Firme
Soy de el inglés en la escuela
To the Espanol from my Abuelitas que sufrieron mucho
Soy de la culture de las raíces de mis papas
De la influencias de Los Estados Unidos
Americana y Mexicana es lo quien soy
Y nunca lo olvidaré
Hi, my name is Addison Tuckwell.
I created this poem for school and would like to share it.
Here is the poem:
I am from thinking I can’t.
From the pink teddy bear that I had since a baby
And the lion stuffed toy I stole from my brother.
I’m from worrying everyday and the life lessons from my mom.
I am from the usually quiet street I have always lived on,
And the school I wasn’t technically supposed to go to.
I’m from the Disney family I was born into
And my grandma’s pancakes that no one else can make taste as good.
From ice cream cake with the family and watching Star Wars.
I’m from reading all day,
and my brother who taught me patience.
I am from failing and trying again.
From the chaos of my friends
And the nickname “Add” that my parents always use.
I’m from “having one of those days,” and “stronger than you think.”
From reading “The Monster at The End of This Book” as a child,
And dreaming about the future.
I am from all my pets, past and present,
And decorating the Christmas tree.
I am from proving I can.
Where I’m From
By Chloe Davis
I am from the orchestra performances,
the flute by the easel,
and the forever defective E key
I am from games with my siblings,
from the righteous knight’s quest
to the thieving vagabond
I am from my granddad’s,
from vanilla bean ice cream,
fried potatoes on the stove,
the shells pressed into the driveway
and our heights and hands autographed on the walls
I am from the Big House and the Lake House,
the Red Roof Inn and Dad’s Apartment.
From the peanut butter cookies
(ever so slightly burnt,
yet always devoured).
I’m from shark’s teeth and seashells,
from fossil hunts and sand in my shoes.
I’m from the driftwood forts and pirate swords,
and the olive shells I collected for my mother.
From the mosquito bites on my brother’s back
and the wasps in our yard.
I’m from the tadpoles in the neighborhood creek,
and the worms at the bus stop.
I’m from knees scraped on the chalk-covered pavement,
with bruises and bandaids,
and tears in my eyes.
I’m from the road trips and RV rides,
From Pepper Tree and Aurora,
to the Junk Shop and the Flea Market.
I’m from my Nana’s banana pudding,
from late night neapolitan ice cream with my dad,
and the beach explorations after
From ghost crabs in the bathtub
to sand fiddlers wiggling out of my hands
From the kid’s table by the tree
to “where are those twittering little birds?”
I’m from “if nobody else”
And “might as well be me”
From Southport and Fort Fisher
and Snow’s Cut, too
I am from the explorations I took,
and the ones I took for granted.
I am from the hospital visits I didn’t make
and the one’s I will yet.
From my sister’s hugs
and the conversations with my brothers
I am made from the ones I love
the ones they love,
and the ones we’ve lost,
and the ones I’ve never been able to know,
I will forever be grateful.
“I Am From…” Poem by Roy Li
I am from a mechanical pencil,
From bike rides and video games,
I am from tv shows and movies,
From the comfort of my home.
I am from tomatoes and green onions,
Both of which grow ripe and fresh,
Outside in the lush garden,
After a refreshing summer fall.
I am from special family dinners,
From steaming rice, savoury chicken, and crunchy shrimp,
To plump dumplings, long noodles, and simmering miso soup,
And lots and lots of vegetables.
I am from the blueberry fields out west,
So plump and sweet they are,
I remember picking them one by one,
From a farm out in the country.
I am from the smell of the morning dew,
I am from the smell of the night,
I am from the West,
I am from the East.
I am from family,
From parents, grandparents, and brother,
Like my Dad once said,
“Energy flows where attention goes.”
“Country Roads Take Me Home.”
By: Mykenzie Bodekor
I am from country roads.
Looking forward all you see is welcome to Culpeper and thousands of trees.
Here no one locks a single door, so there is no need for keys.
We have 10 chickens, 4 kittens, and 2 dogs
and at night the only thing you hear are the loud frogs.
Country roads take me home.
I am from country roads.
I’ve never met my biological dad.
It is not much of a loss if I must add.
I have love from another
and gave me Liam, the most incredible little brother.
He loves me like his own
and I will forever call him dad because that is the role he has always shown.
Country roads take me home.
I am from country roads.
I am a daughter of a three time cancer survivor.
Jennifer Anne Bodekor is my personal definition of a stiver.
She is the reason I overuse the words I love you
and the reason I know how to tie my shoe.
Country roads take me home
I come from country roads.
I come from the Bodekor family; we believe in real love
like the kind you see in hallmark movies where there seems to always be a dove.
We all wear our hearts on our sleeve,
but Grandma Joan says it’s a good thing to achieve.
Country roads take me home.
Country roads take me home.
I come from a big family that loves me for me
and because of this I know it is exactly where I am supposed to be.
No matter where I go
or how old I grow…
Country roads will always take me home.
Походжу від… (Джордж Елла Лайон)
Походжу я від защіпок,
від Клороксу і тетрахлорметану,
та від багнюк на задньому подвір’ї
(чорні, лискучі,
на смак – як буряк)
Походжу від куща форзиції,
голландських в’язів –
давно віджилі ті кінцівки довгуваті,
пригадую – немов свої.
Походжу від помадки й окулярів,
Від Аймоджена й Елафейра.
Від я-все-знаїв та здолай-це-все,
гартуй-свій-дух і стули-пельку.
Від тих, де Він очищує нам душу
ягнятка диском ватним
і десяти рядків, що знаю назубок.
Походжу від Артемуса та Гілки Біллі,
від смаженої кукурудзи і міцної кави,
від пальця, що його позбувся дід мій,
до буру,
як заплющив очі тато – і зір зберіг.
Під ліжечком у мене скринька для одежі,
світлини давні шкереберть
і сито втрачених облич
дрейфує нижче мрій моїх.
Я з тих хвилин –
зірвалася до плоті –
із дерева летить родинний листопад.
Джордж Елла Лайон
Переклав українською Дмитро Чистяк
I Am From Project 