I am from yellow houses. The ones with green shutters and vines growing along the sides. I am from rainy weather with umbrellas too big to hold in my small, weary, hands. I am what I am. I am unloveable and complex but loved and solved at the same time. I am an open book but one that remains closed until someone comes along and opens me, reading each page, some colorful and others just blank. I am a story worth telling and an experience worth sharing, some good, others not so much. I am from sunflowers and freshly cut grass. I am a blank page but I can easily be marked. I am what I am. I am from linen sheets and warm laundry. I hope to be less of a burden than I am. The youngest child, the one parents hope turn out alright. I am from tears and broken hearts. But I am also from sunshine and glasses half full. I am artwork that hangs on walls and painted in murals, ones you can’t glance at just once. I am from cold winters and warm homes during them. I am what I am. I am from clothing too big to fit my tiny body and fresh apples too small to fill my empty stomach. I am what I am.