I am from a place of whispers like thoughts in the wind,

drifting behind closed doors.

I am from a place of promises,

made but never kept.

I am from a place of loneliness,

molly was a dry make believe friend.

I am from a place of collection seeds,

as they fall like baby helicopters into broken jars.

I am from a place of rotting leaves,

stuck to crackling roots like paper mache.

But I am also from a place of dancing in the kitchen,

under the spell of magical silence until the oven timer goes beep.

I am also from a place of running through sprinklers,

dodging and weaving through an intricate maze,

just to reach the front door.

I am also from a place of flowered curtains,

like a vibrant garden littered with wooden beads.

Now, I finally see. I am from a place of tiny yellow houses,

I am from a place of growing strong.