Where I am From…

I am from a mother and a father,

Just like the majority of you.

Many houses have I called a home,

But none like my home today.

I am from the mother of three children.

My sister, the middle child,

Is known for her witty remarks.

My brother, the baby,

Gives, but never shares the blame.

I am from the father of many moods.

His hands would sometimes rise,

But never did it hurt like when his voice would.

I am from being a little girl in kindergarten.

I wore little shoes and pink frilly dresses.

And though not a popular little girl,

I did have a great friend.

From playing with cardboard bricks,

To quietly whispering during naptime,

We were inseparable.

I am from change.

My parents divorced,

And I had no real place to call "home".

My life will never be the same.

I am from obnoxious days,

And long, quiet nights.

Every other weekend,

I would visit my father,

Convincing myself to not run away.

I hear their voices in my head…

"Shut up, idiot… Leave me alone!"

Annoying, whiney little voices.

I can still feel my facial twitching play.

I am from the greatest of friends.

One with her old Mafia movies,

Another with her random "Did you know?"

And the other with her ecstatically bubbly personality.

They are like my sisters,

Laughing even through the pain.

The inquisitor, sneezing into my birthday cake,

The future actress after dumping a guy,

And the chipper one, laughing at someone's awkwardness.

No one can replace them.

I am from a mother,

Of whom no one compares to

She is the best at everything,

And the worst at nothing.

She says things that I do not want to hear,

To help me understand.

She does things,

To keep me safe.

She helps everyone,

Before herself,

And no one can do that quite like her.

I am from reason,

And logical boundaries.

I have more emotions,

Then my family put together.

I hate the words,

Of which comes no true answer.

I love to move,

And cannot sit still.

I am impatient,

Although with time to kill.

I hate being overbearing,

But motherly I am still.

I fancy the arts,

But I have no rhythm.

Computers skills I lack,

And my grammar is wretched.

I am from being right,

And occasionally corrected.

This is where I am from.