Author: iamfromproject

I Am From

Luca Teopaco

I’m from isolation and identity,

From the loneliness of being misunderstood.

I’m from Lightning Mcqueen backpacks that struck criticism from girls my age. 

The laughter and whispers that surrounded me when I was too young to comprehend their cruelty.

I’m from poor eyesight that never got treated until I was 8 years old.

From being unable to see from far distances and writing slowly

And from the impatience of my private Catholic school teacher who hurt me with her words and hands.

I’m from my deceased grandmother whom I’ve never met but looks after me in the form of butterflies.

I’m from being an only child,

From the feeling of uselessness of not having someone to look after or being looked after

And the feeling of envy of not having a “built in” best friend.

I’m from emotionality,

Cursed with feeling too intensely and loving too hard.

From heartbreaks and hopelessness

To healing and hopefulness.

I’m from being a boy born in a girl’s body,

Being unable to understand why I never felt like myself until I was old enough to start being true to myself.

From my family’s support and my grandfather’s unhesitant efforts to start calling me his grandson.

Though their unintentional disrespect hurts sometimes, I just have to remind myself that they don’t know any better. 

I’m from the carelessness of my father and the carefulness of my mother 

That explains the recklessness of my actions but the fragility of my emotions. 

From feelings of prolonged sadness, continued worry, and constant flow of tears

Later diagnosed as depression and severe anxiety, something I might have gotten from my aunt.

Intensifying my fear of abandonment and losing myself.

I’m from always offering to listen so no one ever has to feel unheard as I once did. 

From “You’re a good listener, you know that?”

From jumping to solve someone else’s problems because I’ve always had a hard time sympathizing with myself. 

I’m from found family 

From being the only junior in a group of seniors 

And finding somewhere I finally belonged.

I’m from music 

To listen to, to sing, to hum to, to create.

From choral music, keeping my soft palette raised to losing my breath when belting in musical theatre.

I have my older cousin to thank, who started singing with me before I could even count. 

I’m from picking up a camera my freshman year and never being able to put it down, creating a passion for cinematography and photography. 

From being the one person who always wants to capture so he can remember.

I’m from handwritten letters

From having the thoughts of a person written out for only you to see and keep. 

I’m from seeking tranquility at the beach,

Always with the two girls that grew to be my nonbiological sisters.

From watching a meteor shower at midnight while the waves audibly crash onto the shore.

From seeing shooting star after shooting star, making wishes along the lines of having more moments like this.

Did you know that seeing a shooting star at the same time as someone you love means a “celestial blessing?”

A connection destined to endure. 

I’m from love

From never regretting to love someone, for free falling into it. 

From choosing to love in a world that seems to lack it.

To love and be loved,

To let love persevere and to let love consume,

To love a girl and hear her glorious laughter after I’ve said something ridiculous.

If I am from anything, let it be known,

That I am from love. 

I Am From

Brianna Bichler

I am from pens and pencils 

from dryer sheets and Gatorade

I am from the close-knit and warm, small, quiet but somehow loud 

I am from daisies; quaint, simple, but beautiful

I am from lighting candles while singing happy birthday and curly hair

From Melissa and Brad

I am from the arguing, yelling, and miscommunication and the many apologies 

From being told that mom has eyes in the back of her head and that it was illegal to turn the lights on in the car at night 

I’m from believing in God, with no specific religion 

I’m from St. Cloud and Germany, hot dish and watermelon 

From the sister developing epilepsy and seeing our family watch her as she struggles to come to term with it. 

The unexpected and quick death of our grandmother 

Running along the walls of the bedroom hallway

I am from the memories hanging in the house and from each and every family member’s heart 

I am From

Oliver Hickman

I am from rolls of film

From Play-Doh and Lego

I am from the sticks in the backyard

sword-like, wand-like, sometimes grimy

I am from a blackberry bush

That was picked into many pies

I’m from movie nights and asthma

From Curt and Deb

I’m from artists and smartasses

From “don’t be angry” and “why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling?”

I’m from Catholics, deconstructed

I’m from Nebraska, Norway, and the Philippines

tofu, cinnamon rolls

From the kitten my brother and father found in the engine of the car

The Bells Palsy of my sister

gathering dust in two basements

with nothing passed down except a computer

Where I’m From 

Xia Xiong  

I’m from a people with no land,
Nomads, farmers, indigenous freedom fighters.
I’m from war, from running and hiding,
Through thick jungles and deep rushing water.
I’m from my ancestors wildest dreams
As they were forced to move from mountainside to valleys.
I’m from my grandfather’s tall tale stories and my grandmother’s Deepest woes.
I’m from my mother’s smile, her black hair
That ties me to a lineage of the
strong and resilient
Women before her.
I’m from my father’s curiosity,
His endless wonder and creativity
That flows through me.
I’m from the dirt below me,
Stardust in the air, flower petals
That wilt around me, and deep,
Deep rushing water.
I’m from sharp pencils and soft paint brushes, 

Gentle strokes and all shades of the rainbow.
I’m from the hidden words from library books
Stashed far within Young Adult and Non-fiction.
I’m from the gentle bubbling of pho broth brewing,
From the spicy garlic oil and taste of soy sauce,
And of course, can’t forget the subtle hints of lime and basil. I’m from split tongues, abstract minds, 

Colorful spirals of cloth stitched together
By dual cultures and constant evolution.. I’m from the free spirit that fuels my desires, Goals and dreams, the endless realm 

Where inspiration meets reality. 

I Am From

by Ashley Massey

Where I’m From

Ashley Massey

I am from bacon grease stored

in a pot under the stove.

From Country Crock and whole milk.

I am from the screen door

that slapped shut during storms.

From tornado alley, cow patties,

and rain flooding the pasture.

I am from the forsythia bush

that scratched like fingernails

outside my bedroom window.

I’m from Christmas breakfast at PawPaw’s

and fishing in the muddy cow pond.

From Mattie Bell, Faye, and Jane.

I’m from the late-night record playing

and farmer tans. 

From “don’t backtalk me”

and “one day things will be better.”

I’m from the little church in Ethridge

flanked by corn fields.

I’m from Flatwoods and Scottish horse thieves.

From homemade mashed potatoes and

skinned doves floating

in a bowl in the fridge.

From the creek where Momma almost drowned

and Daddy pulled her on top of the truck. 

From the Old Charter, county jail, and country roads

that go forever.

I am from the clock my great-grandmother

needle-pointed, hanging in the kitchen, counting

all the hard times 

and all the really good times too.

Olivia McClure

II Am From

I am from red, bricked roads on Seventh street

From stained clothing and dirty feet

I am from an old white house where the fighting was indiscreet 

Cracked wood floors, broken windows, slammed doors

I am from the green grass that surrounds these sores 

The tall trees that gave me shade before

I am from distant yelling and my bedroom smelling 

From “when will it stop … there is no telling”

I’m from the fire inside me to make things change: the frustration, the pain

From “don’t be so vain” and “don’t ask for help, they’ll call you insane”

I’m from a family who only went to church to not seem so inhumane

I’m from too many small towns, I’ve learned to find hope in the rain

My journals are filled to the brim, with the words I wish I could say to him 

I’m getting out of here, everything I have learned about love is solely from within

I Am From

Zoe Crall

My childhood is filled with laughter,

Of my brother’s drumming and my sister’s piano,

Shared Crabby Patties and mustard yellow walls,

Of my grandparents with an ancient house,

That smelled like home cooking and old wax melts,

And sounded like quiet conversing and Cartoon Network,

And the “head ’em up and move ’em out”

That preceded a short drive home every Friday night.

Of my shared room with a creaky bunk bed and a neon karaoke.

Dancing to the beat of Kroeger and Hetfield,

And singing our hearts out to our favorite boy bands.

Performing for our friends made of stitches and stuffing.

Of summer days spent on the Xbox 360,

In a room that perfumed of dust and cat hair,

Mining away and crating my own world,

And the sound of melancholy instrumental, 

That is forever etched in my memories.

Of marveling at the Mp3’s slick design,

And never getting enough of Dad’s playlists.

Of watching Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings,

And feeling like I was a part of something magical.

Of training wheels, fireflies, and sidewalk chalk,

Making stew with rain water and grass clippings,

And checking on our fairy house for any lost Tinkers.

My childhood is filled with Happy Meals,

And a 30-minute drive home from Vacation Bible School.

Of my brother’s new license and his old and tiny convertible,

That always had its top down.

Of friendship bracelets and Wonder Loom bands,

And never leaving the house without a citric sent.

And though I may cringe at some of my fashion choices,

I can’t help feeling a sense of nostalgia 

Whenever I see hot pink leggings, leopard print, and hand-me-down Hollister.

I know that my sister is the only person who truly understands

The growth and happiness these experiences gave me.

These times may have come and gone,

But the memories will always live on

In the after-school talks and nights spent in each other’s rooms,

Over shared snacks and shared earbuds.

On recipes that remind us of our grandma’s cooking,

And remembering how the world will always be more magical in our young eyes.

—

Where I’m From 

by Evelyn Smiley (Age 9, Matthews, NC)

I’m from my mom’s dining corner in the dining room

and Thanksgiving Dinners.

I’m from knitting and sewing

while watching football on the couch.

I’m from yummy pizza nights at the beach

with garlic rolls and black olive pizzas.

I’m from eating Ruffles with French Onion Dip,

while listening to Walker Hayes.

I’m from loving 4th grade

with Sofia and Estella.

I’m from baking cookies in the winter,

Christmas Eve sleepovers,

and helping the homeless.

I’m from cheering for the Panthers and Bills.

I’m from my preschool teachers,

Ms. Michelle and Ms. Fowler.

I’m from the sadness of my two cats,

Jax and Benji,

who loved catnip.

I’m from soccer and chess and playing catch with my brother.

I’m from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,

graphic galore,

checking out at the library.

I’m from Mac and Cheese,

mashed potatoes.

I’m from Brownies,

Ice Cream Cake,

Hot Chocolate.

I’m from fun neighbors,

who taught me how to sew.

I’m from the middle of the woods.