Where I'm From

I am from hair ties and clips,
from a hectic tennis schedule that leaves my weekends completely booked, and my weekdays rushed.
I am from the sound of fingers frantically moving across the keyboard, the sound of pencils scratching on paper, and the sound of footsteps shuffling across the hall.
I am from my brother's groans when he crashes in his video game,
and from my mother when she yells, "Keep it down!"
I am from plain white walls and unpacked boxes.
I am from a neighborhood filled with friends,
a park being my backyard.
I am from my grandmother's lamb on Easter, and my aunt's rosemary potatoes on Thanksgiving.
I am from scrapbooks and the diary that is my bedroom wall,
my most precious memories pinned up for everyone to see.

I am also from loud rock music that pulses through the house,
originating downstairs, and finding its way up.
I am from messy rooms, stained and chewed-on walls, and two dogs who don't seem to be capable of being quiet.
I am from wild trees and plants,
a dusty table with worn out chairs overlooking the scene.
I am from an endless line of houses,
where a dog next door always seems to be at the window,
staring,
paws up,
waiting for her owner to come home.
I am from my dad's stuffing on Thanksgiving.
I am from my computer,
on which, I can release my inner-most thoughts, and let my imagination run wild.

I am from order and peace,
and also from music and mindlessness.
This is what makes me who I am,
and I would never do anything to change it.