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Group Poems

I Am From Inside/Outside

October 2001

I am from the branches

of a broken family tree.

I am from my father's voice

there was nowhere to run

I am from the womb

of a troubled woman

who wasn't perfect

but I loved her.

I am from a child

having everything handed to her

that her parents could buy.

I am from too much

and too little.

I was ashamed of mom and dad.

I am from a place

no one knows.

I am from another person

who was here before,

watching over my family.

I am from the under ground,

from the cool water

a ripple

rises from me.

I am from learning about Jesus,

but not finding him

in church.

I am from the sun and the moon,

the balance in my world.

But that wasn't

until later.

I am from far away from here:

here being lost,

needing directions;

here being too far

from home,

too far from me.

I am the rifle

behind my grandmother's door

waiting.

I turned to getting street smarts.

I wore a facade everyday.

I am from the bars,

the liquor stores,

the pharmacies.

I am from Jail

different bars

two different lands

meeting and merging.

I am from a very complicated world.

I am from a life of confusion,

from the pain

that lies deep in my mind.

I am from history

because I lived there

most of my life.

I am from a fairy tale

I call "My Life."

I am from being interested

in too many things,

from all the needs and wants

of everyday life.

I am from my children's voices;

a daughter who is

five years old.

I want to turn cartwheels with her.

I am from the need for

quiet time

every single day.

No one can find me

because my place

is in me.

Now I asked myself

where indeed am I from.

I have determination,

a name that fits my identity.

I am from the love

I once knew.

I am from faith.

I never forgot that.

I am from all races: black, white

and Indian,

Irish and Dutch.

I am from tradition

of an old wise country.

I am from the here and now.

Before coming here

I would never have guessed

how today I feel I truly am blessed.

My Picture Tells the Story

My picture tells the story of what is normal? Having fun, sad times…

Playing outside, my sister and me, neighborhood kids; a little girl who once was free to catch the lighting bugs and chase the butterflies…

My picture tells the story of a girl who loved water swimming like a fish. How, now, I feel like a fish in a bowl who can’t get out.

My picture tells the story of my childhood innocence; of a child brokenhearted looking for something, someone.

My picture tells the story of a little girl whose father took her to church; the story of my religion, I hold to the good thoughts.

My picture tells the story of when I was young hotels and motels, cheap neon signs. A young girl standing alone trying to reach for that strong hand but it escapes her.

My picture tells the story of big beautiful lips and my heart broken up in the clouds; of living a fast life nervous, nervous, nervous; of things that you keep somewhere until you are ready to see.

My picture tells the story of a little girl who was raised in the wild, who can’t forget where she came from; of peace with myself and the things I have done.

Our pictures tell these stories:

shadow and light, revealed and hidden, chosen symbols of our powerful lives.

Women of Chrysalis Pod, Autumn 2007

Compiled by Carolyn Brooksbank

I Am From Inside/Outside