Origins

I am from the walls of my grandparents’ home; of experiments in the kitchen I couldn’t eat.
I am from the happy shrieking of children and painted carpet that was just a little too rough on velvet hands.
I am from the smell of dirt and trees from the garden and mulch on the backyard playground. (The fear of splinters would ring strongly in my chest).
I am from the schoolbooks I was taught from; my family leaving their best intentions in the hands of the flimsy workbooks that were bought for me.
I am from the adoration of becoming an oldest sibling for the first time, staring at rosy cheeks and a disgruntled face within my mother’s arms.

My roots shift, them where I am from becomes stretched within the blurry movements of freeway pavement and natural wonders flashing by on the roadside.
Then, I am from the earthy smell of swampland, of a recreational vehicle too small to host a family of 6.
I am now from a place of food I had never known before; the sting of spice makes me cry, but I cannot help but adore the sharp flavors provided by boiled crawfish and sweet cornbread.
I am now from terror, the sounds of thrown children’s chairs and banging against a wall; the sounds of baby girls crying in the background for their mom.
I am from a place where I would forget the memories with the vibrations of cleats hitting the ground, a ball between my legs as the field becomes a blur of movement.
Once more, my roots become stretched; I am now from bland keto diets and bruising gravel underneath my feet.
I am now from a place of thick air; breath being suffocated before it even reaches the mouth.
The field is once again my place to forget, to focus on the salty substance my skin secretes into my shin guards.
Too soon but not soon enough, my roots are stretched a final time to return to their original state.
More movement, tinged with the ice cold of fear and back-breaking pressure of parental responsibility.
I now am from a divided home that is still healing; back in the familiar lavender walls of my childhood.
I am now once more from biting winters and sugary cereal that would be the substance of most lazy meals.

I am now from my origins, and I look at my roots and mourn at their mangled state.
My roots never reached proper nutrition, but the remedy is now or never.
Even now I am still from a place of thick air and attempts at a healthier lifestyle; still surrounded by the ground and earth that served as my way to forget.