I am from the other side of here,
across the sodium fluid and cotton candy.
I am from an ant’s cave,
loud, busy, and free, yet limited.
I am from a dusty, ancient kingdom.
I am from the jail of mind,
black and small, yet thousands,
from the watermelon city.
From the reds appeared the green,
down the ladder and into a cleaner life,
I am from the traveling birds’s nest.
From the brown pupils of her eyes,
and the inner sheep of him,
those of the elements that made me.
Under the short, bold, bridge,
a piece of broken note sang.
I’m from those of the old times,
an atom of invaded bacteria,
evaporated from the river.
For the first time I was praised of my English poems, for the first time a teacher chose to say this aloud to the class, She, student teacher Connie brought me hope and happiness. I wrote this poem from my experience, with my heart and mind. “A highschooler couldn’t possibly wrote this…” I thought all my poems were just random pieces of shattered glass, but this time…this poem was good. I guess a reason was how I translated my experience into words, imagery words…
