I am from the tears of an aged woman,
who cried happily to a worn down man.
I am from bare grass,
where my shoeless feet felt the gentle blades,
and my tender hands gripped the bark.

I am from the countless fights,
the destructiveness of different personalities
all forced into one home.
I am from the coffee-stained house,
from the  yeses and no's,
from the broken glass.
I am from the ballerina-pink room
where I spent most of my time.

I'm from the unwelcomed situations,
naked and unbearably lost.
From the broken bones,
to the broken hearts.
I am from emotions.

There, in my mind,
all these memories,
good and bad,
are the important stuff.
I am from what she made,
but I created,
and I will destroy.