The first years were spent feeling overwhelmed.

All these sensations sending signals through synapses,

which I had yet to learn about. I had no concept

of the time or space around me, and my survival

depended on an unlikely couple.

They were so in love back then.

They led me, fed me, and lay me to bed.

The first years were spent.


Those later years, I stepped forth

into America and kindergarten.

I remember my first week there,

the teacher read a letter that was a response

to a letter sent by the class

before my arrival in the school.

The reply was from George W. Bush.

On the backside of the reply she was reading,

was a picture of the man himself.

Being new to the country and around five

years of age, my knowledge on the man

was considerably limited. Later that year,

2001, I started first grade.

I began learning the culture.

Then those later years took a step back.


Those teenage years were so bittersweet.

Turns out acclimating to a culture is bit of

an uphill battle while attending Catholic school.

Seeing the changing tide, my mother pulled

my from the blood of Christ, placing me

in the hands of Uncle Sam. I would become a

teen in the tumultuous tightly packed halls

of public middle school. I remember little

from this time but the girls I liked, games

I played , and guys I spent time with.

Maybe these foggy years would

have been more visible I had not spent

them behind a haze of odorous smoke and vapor.

Having left my teenage years, looking back

is bittersweet.


So here I am, an adult.

Or at least that’s what the world would tell me.

I don’t feel like one.

Those first years of being carted around,

seem distant now.

That culture I didn’t understand in the years after,

is something that I am now a part of.

And all those girls I thought I loved,

they came to pass.

That large mass of friends that I once had

withered down by time and distance.

So here I am.

An adult.

Moving towards the day

where I finally feel like one.



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