This poem was format written for English class so it's not very good. But it tells more about who I am, where I am from.

I am from climbing trees and melodies,
from bike rides to the Red Jeep and no further.
I am from a built bridge across a sled crash creek.
(The ice cracked
under my weight.)
I am from the lightning struck tree,
and the birdhouse maple,
its twisting limbs laid out
like a map in my mind.

I'm from Lincoln Logs and shared bedrooms,
from six kids and two parents.
I'm from the Irishmen
and the tennis players,
from Move your feet! and Follow through!
I'm from Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
and Let's see who can eat the most!
and knowing my brother always does.

I'm from homemade bread and no fast food,
Daddy-made chili and Mama-made everything else.
From the six surgeries on Dad's knees
'cus tennis ruined them,
and the never known grandfather we loved all the same.
In six boxes on a shelf,
containing useless memos and dusty memories,
a collection of our six lives,
for us to remember when we grow old enough.
I am from these things--
second to live and one so loved--
piece of the misfit puzzle of my family.