I am from light soft bread
A perfect triangle of soft gooey cheese
Mouthwatering brown steak
Crunchy carrots
Sugary purple juice
The spicy smell
I ask for more

I am from long creaking bookshelves
Gazing at mixed up call numbers
Thudding on a chair small enough for a mouse
Picking out hundreds of books
It is time to go home

I am from turning the page  
Intrigued by every word
Tempted to finish
In another world

I am from a yellow glow in the dark  
Thoughts are flowing like light      
Voices are a mere whisper
I wash them away
A sudden silence in my brain
From hoping nobody will hear
The the creak of the paper
Remembering the page number
I am from plunging my sweaty face into cool air
                                        
I am from seeing holes in gray cloth
The same white wall
Like it is staring at me
I am feeling the cold black railing
Giving me small shocks here and then
Their laughter keeps me alive
I am from the itchy brown floor
The old whispering rugs.

I am from writing