I am from my birth pillow.
I am from loneliness, sadness...
spaciness...
...I was always looking for something.

I am from dandelions and tall, tall grass.
The breeze sifted through the yard, and the
blades swayed in perfect synchrony.

I am from Christmas Eve at Grandpa's
house, and the low status gifts.  From
****** communication.  From stones, and Nelsons.

I am from living in fear,
and abandonment.  From,"You're like him."
And luckily from, "You weren't MEANT to fit in."

I am from the cross and communion, and then
realizing I cannot see his face in nature's mirror.
With my own reflection being distorted by the glass.

I am from Illinois, and Scandinavian blood...
From potato soup and at times, nothing.
I am from her absence, and how fast she left.

I am from burnt up, few remaining, and rare pictures.
I am from toys I once collected, now melted.  The pillow
I had now gone.

I am from the feeling I had a consumerists mark
on the world, but my impression is more.  More than
toys or things, I have who I am.  My memories.

I have my worth.