A collection from all over the world. Some in English, some combined and one in Ukranian. The reach of this group is wide and deep.

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

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