Diawriter...I Am From

About a year ago, I had to write an entry for my family relationships class with the title "I Am From." She didn't give us any other specifications, except that it should take a lot of thought. Many people did a poem but, being the writer I am, I did something a little different...So as an author's note to you, it may seem a little weird. Keep in mind that since it's from a while ago, there won't be anything about syringes or hospital beds (aka diabetes). But in a week or so, after this one has digested, I'll make a new one to show where I am NOW as opposed to over a year ago.

Looking down the long dirt path that led me to this day, I can see the many things that led me to this green patch. I see the many hills that all seemed greener on the other side. I see the grass stained pants and skinned knees, causing a caring woman to wash and wash until the stains were replaced with holes. I see the pits filled with quicksand that I had to slowly pull myself through, and if I tried to go any faster I just sank more. The sand still lines my soul, showing that I will always be someone that got past those spots. I see footsteps circling and backtracking, not being able to choose a path. However, I could never get away from my dirt path. My hands are creased with sap from the tree branches I clung to so that the wind and storms could not pull me away. They could never pull me away. I see flowers along my path that prove the sunlight can always shine through, as long as I let it. They peek through mud with hope that can only be found in sunrays and rain, mixed together yet separate. Looking back, I see a path that was uphill and was downhill. A path that held confusion, yet held preciseness. A path that twisted and turned in a way that always went straight. It’s impossible to see forward and impossible to go back. This is where I am from.