I’m from the vibrations of vocal cords,
     movement of the toung
     and lips to say:
     “I lost the game...!”
I’m the wrinkled old pages that
     held a magical story to
     fall more and more
     in love with
From the sweet vibrations of my
     mother’s voice, the
     sounds of turning pages;
     the magic of Oz seeping out
I am from the click, click, click sound
     as my imagination
     poured out into digital
     1’s and 0’s that formed words
I am from each slice of that knife
     the sting I felt, the
     blood that spilled
     the marks it left
From the heat from each burn;
     the blister that formed,

     grief it showed, and

     the scar that followed
I’m from the once fluffy teddy
     that’s always been
     there to absorb my
     tears and laughter
From the mistakes I made, and the
     lessons I learned, the
     blessed and happy days
     and the days that held rain