I am from the bobby pin that sits on top of the glassed white-framed mirror like the only pencil in a pencil pouch
From the terrible touch of the towel
I am from the couch that sits
From widening, tidying creativity
I am from the fresh and not hot or cold smell of the house
I am from my sister’s blank white soft and rough blanket like a deer’s fur
From all the cooking skills and fixing skills
I am from the calm and hype music that played in my head
From all the paint under my bed
I am from my mother’s womb
I am from my mother’s fried chicken and chicken stew
From the spiciness
From the fresh eggs with toasted bread on the side
I am from all the math and from all the Greek and Latin words in my head
I am from me trying to grasp everything I love
Grade: 8
Washington DC
Ethiopia
Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds
My parents