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
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.
Moving towards the day
where I finally feel like one.