I Am Me.

I am from two preschools, four elementary schools, one middle school, and two high schools.

I am from the houses (of town and not) and apartments that were laid for us.

I am from the nights my father worked,

Just to pay for me.

I’m from the conversations about my mother’s horrid life,

And the arguments the last two caused of it.

I am from the joy the little me used to have,

The freedom and confidence as she played and laughed.

I am from the shadows laid on the sidewalks path.

The middle I saw barely, for there were more important things.

I am from the lake who saw our great adventures

Unfold before her eyes.

From the numbers that became people, from this weird mind of mine.

With relationships, and arguments, they portrayed a life.

I am from the court, the field, the gym.

I’m from jammed fingers, late nights, and sore muscles.

It made me see some light.

I am from the echo of my name,

Bouncing off the walls,

I’m from the tears that followed as I walked down the halls.

I am from the silence thereafter, in the many years,

The quick glances and short answers, and avoidance of my peers.

I am from the moments so close to death,

That I never even died.

The chest pains, muscle weakness, and lack of oxygen painfully ending my life.

Beyond my choice, and beyond my will, death was standing there holding the knife.

I am from these moments so close to death that people call physical illusions,

That it felt so real, but I was actually gonna be okay.

But the fact was I was not okay, and I was not living, this death was more than just a sick day.

I am from the pen that used salt water ink,

And keys made of years gone by.

I am from the nasty words and nasty glances,

And a sister who didn’t give second chances.

But also, I am not from chance.

I am not from a glob of cells that just happened to make me.

I am not a mistake,

Or some evolution randomality.

And most importantly,

I’m from the One who made all things.

I am from late night prayers,

And hard hit sermons.

I’m from the joy of undeserving salvation.

Not the kind that fades and leads you back to the nearest gas station.

I am from the dripping blood of a purely perfect Lamb.

I’m from the nails beating into bone,

And glass whipped into flesh.

I’m from that crown of thorns,

That digged deep into His skull.

I am from the dripping blood of a purely perfect Lamb,

And I am Saved, and undeserving, and thankful.

I am from the One who made all things.

I am me.