Hi all. A few weeks back, I read a truly beautiful piece over at My Other Book is a Tolstoy by Louise, which then inspired another wonderful post by Stef at Dodging Commas. Both of these talented ladies wrote a poem using the “I am from” format they found on Susie J’s Blog, who provided the basic “procedure”.
Now, I’m not going to lie — compared to the masterpieces these bloggers presented, mine is mediocre. I am not a Poet. I fail at writing poetry. These are facts. Nevertheless, I absolutely adored the “I am from” poems that I read, and the way that they provided insight to their writers in the most mysterious way, so… I’m havin’ a crack. Be kind!
I Am From…
I am from lazy Sunday drives that rarely happen on a Sunday. I am from the small town. I am from fear of the unknown, of becoming distracted and losing myself. I am from 180 degrees of wrong direction.
I am from lilies on Valentine’s Day, when the world screams for roses. I am from the old-fashioned, hoping for opened doors and “you are beautiful”, but needing freedom, space, understanding. Let me be flighty; I will come back.
I am from eating ducks under tables and finishing crusts so my hair grows curly. I am from Nanna’s roasts and Pop’s straw hat. I am from flour-dusted cheeks and mixing bowls, from pumpkin scones, cuddles and midnight taste-testing. I am from spilt salt and black cats, from putting new shoes on the table and walking under ladders thirteen times, just to see what will happen.
I am from a cousin’s Funny Things, from schedules never kept and never needed. From day-apart birthdays and monthly sleepovers and I miss you.
I am from inquisitive meows and warm bundles that always appear just when needed. I am from heartache and loss when your best friend stops purring.
I am from women, from a family of one-man-only per generation. I am from divorce and from moving house once a year. I am from Broken that never seemed Broken until people started to say it was.
I am from Velveteen Rabbits, from dog-eared pages and “you should be a writer”. I am from bad guys; why do I love you so? I am from diaries never maintained and stories never obtained. From pencils sharpened to the nub and never thrown away, but always eventually lost. From right angles and alphabetizing and needing order, lest Life fall apart.
I am from optimism, wrapped around realism. I am from hoping for better, but loving the now, even when I don’t love myself. I am from expectations.
I am from…
– Love The Bad Guy