I am from story books,
From magic carpets and leprachauns
and tales that are not yet told.
I am from city
lights flickering
Beneath the
dark night sky,
Always wondering,
If Santa Claus would crawl through my windowsill
Always wondering,
If Santa Claus would crawl through my windowsill
I am from the
intertwining grapevines,
That hang on the
walls outside
the basketball
court
That I stare at when I feel
alone, defeated.
That I stare at when I feel
alone, defeated.
I am from the pearly-white lilies,
Whose scent is mixed
with
The cold,
frigid air on classic stages .
The sound of the cello combined with the smell,
could create an everlasting elixir,
that could cure me
From any wounds I bear.
The sound of the cello combined with the smell,
could create an everlasting elixir,
that could cure me
From any wounds I bear.
I am from
Christmas and New Years’ Eve,
From the bows and the ribbons,
From the decorations and the gifts.
I am from the wishes and shooting stars,
from the faraway dreams and goals
that I dream of,
Even if it seems impossible.
From the bows and the ribbons,
From the decorations and the gifts.
I am from the wishes and shooting stars,
from the faraway dreams and goals
that I dream of,
Even if it seems impossible.
I am from the Chiu and Chen
from dark hair and eyes
thick bones and backbites.
From work hard!
And obey!
I'm from teachers and lawyers,
whose expectations are as tall
as mountains,
whose worry is written
across their faces.
I'm from teachers and lawyers,
whose expectations are as tall
as mountains,
whose worry is written
across their faces.
I am from
blurry Bible pages,
Pebble-sized
Buddha miniatures,
And free Sunday
mornings.
I am from the awkwardness,
that I face when the lyrics of "Praise the Lord"
are alien to me.
I am from the awkwardness,
that I face when the lyrics of "Praise the Lord"
are alien to me.
I am from the wounds my cousin got in motorbikes,
for having the adventurous streak
inherited by our ancestors.
From the scars
that my grandfather got in the war,
Fighting for a noble cause.
Fighting for a noble cause.
In the deepest
part of my hidden drawer,
There is a
locked chest.
With pictures of
places I’ve passed through
And places that
bear my mark.
Filled with unsent letters, contained feelings,
and memories in different languages.
Filled with unsent letters, contained feelings,
and memories in different languages.
Pictures of friends I’ll never see again,
And lost
dreams.
I am from those
moments,
Always hoping
for a place to stay,
A place to call
home.
For more "Where I'm From" Poems, click at this link: http://www.middlemindz.blogspot.com/#!http://middlemindz.blogspot.com/2012/05/where-im-from.html
For more "Where I'm From" Poems, click at this link: http://www.middlemindz.blogspot.com/#!http://middlemindz.blogspot.com/2012/05/where-im-from.html