April 12, 2017 by thewashingteenian
By Isabella Hendershot, Staff Reporter
I am from the new and old books,
from fictional things and true stories told.
I am from the large room of mine,
and the big wooden desk sitting in my room that’s cluttered with things.
I am from the books of mine that are written in the first person
and the smell of fresh new pages and the brand new copies,
From staying up late,
and ‘just one more chapter’ or ‘10 more minutes.’
I am from learning new recipes
and the sound of an electric mixer.
From the smell of baking cookies
and family dinners.
I am from Mike and Amy,
From my extended family the love we all share.
I am from my father’s stories of him in school,
and how he met my momma.
I come from my protective family and my father’s many friends.
I am from my Pappy and grandmother who I see on Christmas,
From pap’s beef soup that we all love,
and his jumping dog colt.
I come from my books and family,
I wouldn’t want to come from anything else.
This I where I’m from.