I am from untied shoes and scraped knees,
from melting popsicles dripping down my chin.
I’m from doing belly flops into the pool
and begging my mom to buy me bedazzled light-up Skechers.
I am from acting out in order to get attention
and tossing coins into fountains.
I am from counting down the days until Christmas,
and from the indescribable smell of Goodwill.
I am from picking at scabs and biting my nails,
from undercooked pasta and burnt toast,
and I am from throwing fits in the Safeway checkout line.
I’m from making dandelion wishes
and blowing out birthday candles.
I am from crowded school halls
and the long lines on picture day.
I am from the smell of dry-erase markers
and obscene doodles on classroom desks.
I am from the abandoned, the broken, the hurt.
I am from the endless hours of intensive therapy.
I’m from medication with names I can’t pronounce
and side effect after side effect.
From the panic attacks and the answers of,
“Never, Sometimes, Often, and Always.”
I am from the monitored phone calls home.
I’m from leaving people before they can leave me.
I am from losing trust and hope.
I am from isolating in dark rooms.
I am from giving up, quitting, stopping.
I am the memory of untied shoes and scraped knees.