October 6, 2011
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I am from my mother and I identify with the lines of heritage before that
I am from a line of Pollocks; I mourn the language I never knew, but take pride in features I know are from my ancestors
I am from the what-I-thought-was-a-small-town
I am from suburbia;the kingdom of the queen bees, hell for the unique and the place whose name I hate because it shows that I am from there. Facades are the name of the game there.
I am from nowhere; I desire my identity apart from suburbia. I desire to leave it and never come back
I am from the past; I don’t want to return
I am from the future; little moments from the past make me who I am and who I don’t want to be again
I am from the always sober group of college students, I desire to remember my good times.
I am a goody-two-shoes, a perfectionist; I put my foot forward and hope it doesn’t get stuck in the mud
I am from the human race,full of evil and justly condemned
I am from America; whatever that means to you. I am an American. I am not sure whether I should be proud or disgusted
I am from God’s line of adopted children; I do not deserve it
I am pride; I have trouble seeing who I really am.
I am clouded by the blurred judgment of a prideful heart; I often believe that I am great. I often have to be told that I am not. Deep down I know I am nothing without God and have a puffed up prideful attitude.
I am greed; sometimes I eat too much (sometimes meaning, generally all the time)
I am a gossip; oftentimes I even forget that I am doing it
I am not a good listener.
I am selfish; I have to actively work to bring myself away from it.
I am selfish; I have to actively say NO to myself and YES to others
I am stubborn; my pride sometimes rules my decisions
I am not the center of the universe, and I have to remind myself of that everyday
I am from under the blankets, desiring to be cuddled up close to the one I love
I am from those in love; there is something in me that delights me and amazes me
(but rejoice in the fact that I am saved from my own selfish, prideful nature)—-something I took out, but am leaving around because
I’m feeling very creative right now, but do not like to be constrained by the poem we are supposed to write for my education class. I am probably going to do a collage instead because the poem is supposed to be similar to “Where I’m from” by George Ella Lyon. It’s interesting. I don’t really know what I identify with when I have to do projects or assignments like this. I know I just generally think that that’s just what I do. I don’t usually feel connected to who I am supposed to be under what my specific identities.
I am:
female- this makes me a feminist to a degree (not a femi-nazi)
Polish- this makes up my entire body features
Christian- even though I am a bad Christian, this really helps my perfectionist tendencies because I know God’s going to make me the way he wants me over time
vegan-this should make me thinner/healthier than other people, but I eat too much and don’t always eat very healthily
tall
This isn’t what I’m turning in, by no means. I honestly think I’ve lost my poetic edge. I used to do it for myself anyway, so this was for myself more than anything. Sometimes I forget how therapeutic writing is. I miss it a lot many times. I am going to continue it someday. My stepmom sent me a journal, and I might just take advantage of that for this purpose. It’s funny how the timing is on things. I wanted to write recently and then it just kind of happened that I got it in the mail. God is great like that, I guess. I have to go to class soon and might work more on this rambling/whatever you want to call it poem later.
