"I am from ..." - spoken word poetry by Jessica Williams

I AM FROM ...

I am from underground forts and starry night skies

tree climbing 50 feet to the top.

I am from dusty dirt roads and waiting. 

I am from Aunt Sally’s House with homemade cookies and “Would you like to stay?”

“Yes.”

I am from wildflower bouquets and constant wishing on petals or pennies or prayers.

I am from “When your mom gets better she will come back for you" and “You’re not my 

daughter anyway.”

I am from pine needles and wind storms and rain.

Washington State.

I am from berry picking for pies and raking the leaves.

I am from wood stoves for heat and itchy arms full of logs for the fire.

I am from night time chores and can’t-see-in-the-dark trips to the compost 

heart-thumping-alone.

I am from self soothing to sleep and master bedrooms locked.  

I am from loud silence.

I am from “I’ll give you something to cry about" and “Sorry isn’t good enough.” 

I am from pretty church dresses and a dollar for the offering.

I am from “Why can’t more kids be like you?” and the Sunday School van.  

I am from repeating dreams of a heaven full of strangers and a paralyzing fear that I will be there alone.

I am from playing in the yard and my mother appears.

From a i r. 

From God.

From California.

I am from now you see her now you don’t and

I 

feel 

nothing.

I am from summer trips to Sacramento 

my unsafe birthplace. 

I am from swimming pools and palm trees and mom’s too high to stay awake.

I wait.

I am from heroin in any form at any cost and she can't get enough.

I am from parole officers and drug tests and "I need you to pee in this cup for me."

I am from “Look at her!” and “You’re so big!” and the parade is over when I go home again.

I am from “You’re so lucky you have your aunt" and “You’re a spoiled brat.”

I am from fits of rage and public punishments.

Shame.

I am from "If you don't like it here you can leave" and then one day I do.

I am from running away and “can I live with you?”

I am from protective custody and moving to a foster home.

I am from “She looks just like a porcelain doll" and “Which room do you want, sweetie?”

I am from 2000 sit ups a day, bruises on my spine and trying not to eat.

I am from youth group and "I love Jesus" written on my jeans.

I am from modest dress and “Godly girls submit.”

I am from conservative small town America and a few good liberals get under my skin.

They win.

I am from Mr. Krupp's English class, root words and Shakespeare.

I am from asking hard questions and reading good books and writing it out.

I am from The Colour Purple and Things Fall Apart just in time.

Informed, transformed.

Just before I leave where I am from.