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I do not know where I am from.
One hundred and forty-seven hours of contemplation, yet still I am stuck in a strange situation. Am I from the gold corn stalks that build a wall around me? Their weeping silk threads caught around my fingers, and that strange fresh dirt smell that always lingers in the depths of my sweater. Am I from the constellations painted on my cheeks? Their upsetting color like paint splattered on a canvas in uneven spirals; claiming rule over my pale round face. Am I from John Lennon? His weeping guitar and yellow sunshine shining into me in sweet melodic tunes. Am I from Atlantic, Iowa? Home of the Trojans and simple- minded people who have yet to accept individuality. Am I from a hateful world where black and white is the only thing we ever see? Where body parts are to pave the path of one's destination? Am I from a nation whose officials pledge vacation, while those in need sit hungry on the streets? Where the only thing they feel is the hate they’ve been tasting? No. I am from drawing patterns on the fogged-over, emerald-tinted window glass. From the shiny grey floor of a retro skate rink. From the laces of black converse shoes, torn and dirty. I am from laughing as loud as I can at midnight, one, two thirty. But most of all, I am from soul. And from the one hundred classic rock songs we always sang. I am from youth and aspiration. I am from smoke curling through my hair. And I-- I am from the chalk dust, settled rosy pink in my lungs. |
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"My inspiration for this piece came from George Ella Lyon's poem "Where I'm From. " I tried to paint the pictures of youth while putting a personal spin on my words by describing my own memories. I wanted to write something that demonstrated my past experiences and feelings." - Alyssa Brockob, 10th grade, Atlantic High School.