hush little baby, don't say a word

your flesh will be eaten by a hungry bird.

and if that hungry bird won't eat

i will clean your bones with bleach.

and if those bones still aren't clean

i'll scrub at them until they're thin and lean

and if they still smell foul and rank

i'll dip them in mom's perfume

and if she won't let me take her scent,

i'll hang you up even before your smell is spent.

and if you fall down from my tree,

i'll find another baby next halloween.

By Lisa Clevenger

I am from friends, the family that I got to choose from.

I am from Emma and ‘the legend of ooh spicy’,

Inside jokes from ’Bad lip Readings, and Master Yoda and Luke Skywalker’s

“Said seagulls gonna hit you in the coconut,

you’re a Psycho Weiner, let me grab my beater”

From loving animals,

Big, small, and everything in between.

Alligators, cats, dogs, monkeys, birds,

All were welcomed warmly as playmates into my life.

I am from the birds I watched being hatched and starting to grow,

Learning to fly, never giving up,

Always getting up, ready to try again, as they stretch their wings and start to fly,

Inspiring me to keep my head high.

I am from jump ropes and hopscotch,

Board games and mud splotch.

I am from the comfort of my many not-so-normal, third-world schools,

And learning to use my dad’s heavy carpentry tools.

From dreaming of becoming an author,

Always reading and writing to accomplish that secret goal.

I am an artist, a dancer, a reader, and a dreamer.

From streets that were my playground,

And never having a life that was based on sound ground.

I am from tastes like those of the cold, handmade, satisfying, sweet mango lassis,

And the cooling feeling of coconut water going down my hot,

Dry throat after a long day at school.

I’m from the comforting aroma

And the taste of mama’s sweet bake and salted fish together is so savory.

From the lonesome smell of freshly baked bread,

And the small fireside in our little yard,

Where my Uncle Ravi and I cooked fresh broth

While telling me stories of far off places,

Places I thought I’d only go to in my dreams.

I am from places of my wild imagination,

And distant lands that are always full of so much fascination.

From learning to rise from the floor,

Even what mama wasn’t there to rise for,

Always looking for a companion and friend to fill that place.

I am from my mama’s loving words and reassuring touch,

And my papa’s harsh tones, abuse, and words of hate.

From neglect as a child,

And tactics of survival.

From the expectation of always living twenty pounds underweight,

And to people being just a mere girl -

One that shouldn’t know how to read and write.

I am from movies of love that I couldn’t understand,

Because my only knowledge was that of constant reprimand.

I am from taking care of my two younger sisters,

Both of whom became my life, world, and only joy.

From trying my best to give my two sisters real, loving, and kind parents.

To give them a family that will give them the life they deserve,

A life without me and my problems, and trauma.

I am from acknowledging the importance of a good education,

And for my sisters’ sake, saying “yes” to an unwanted adoption.

I am from the two sides of me,

The barbaric, protective, fight-or-flight mode, that can tear anyone apart,

And the loving, caring side of me that I use to mask the other part of me.

The loving side that makes my sisters always,

Always worth shielding from every kind of abuse.

I am from papa’s hurtful words that were my hindrance,

Knowing that if I were to give my sisters a happy,

Protective life, I’d have to use all of my perseverance.

From papa’s most heartbreaking words:

“You were a mistake born from a mistake!”

When I was tired of keeping it together and staying awake.

I am from not knowing in full what its like to be a child,

Because my experiences of it were so mild.

I am from knowing I would never be able to fit in,

And no matter how hard I tried never being able to blend in.

From hoping to become invisible,

Trying to build me up with titanium,

Someone who isn’t so much like me,

One that isn’t so insecure, one that won’t hurt,

And someone invincible.

I am from Creoles, Hindi, broken up English,

And always, when I see the first star, making a wish.

I am from a third world tropical country,

A place that I could pretend none of my problems existed,

Just like the adults in my life.

I am from not knowing the atmosphere

Of Autumn’s crisp breeze,

Or winter’s cold touch as it bites at my ears and burns my eyes.

I am from always telling myself, “You will be loved one day

Not only for who you are, but what you’ve been through,

The person you’ve become, the eight-year-old girl whose father killed her mother

Who you will be, and most importantly, the eldest daughter,

The “mostly Angel with a little bit of mischief” little girl that mama wanted to

See you become, someone she would be proud of.

I am from teaching myself that beauty isn’t pain,

But pain is beauty. Pain is what makes us beautiful and unique,

All in our most special way. It makes us who we are,

But it does not define us, it makes the world beautiful,

Because it helps us to relate to and love each other.

From my mama that went into childbirth when she was just sixteen,

And the very few people that cared.

I am from many loving, sweet imaginary friends.

From the makings of my own Cassie, Marie,

Lizzie, Josh, Hritick, Percy, and Danny,

All of whom are my constant companions and friends,

Even if they are all in my head.

I am not from an easy life,

Because even the most beautiful roses have thorns,

From always reminding myself that I will not be alone in life forever,

And that I am loved even when I feel otherwise.

I am from the masks I wear,

All meant to cover up the insecurity and pain I feel.

I am from red saris and beautiful lehengas,

All meant to hide my wounds and scars.

From loving music and art with all my heart,

Reading and working to justify my very existence.

I am from seven curry and binge-watching Bollywood movies.

From losing my mom

And living with the acknowledgment that I am, in fact,

The daughter of a criminal behind bars,

Whose words constantly remind me that he doesn’t love me,

That he thinks no one can truly know me and still love me,

Because I was a mistake from the beginning,

The mistake that he made.

I am from Guyana, South America,

A proud multiracial East and West Indo-Guyanese American.

I am from the many foster families I’ve lived with,

From the feeling of not belonging, an orphanage, and adoption.

From immense highs and lows,

And fairy tales and living in the shadows.

I am from loving my sisters and fighting for them,

Learning to build trust and let love in.

I am from angry noises and the voices that are in my head,

A constant admonition and realization that I am not normal,

I will never be and neither will that hope that

Pain will cease because I care, care enough to take that pain

Onto myself that makes others not have to.

From a life of grief and resilience,

A life that to me, never seems worth living.

I am who I am, not the mistakes I have made,

I am not like the people that have hurt me,

From the love and comfort of my only hero so far: my mama.

I am a person with dreams.

From where I will go and where I’ve been,

From what I’ve seen and what I will see.

I’m who I am and who I will be.

Rotting in solitude,

I was gradually tearing down

Piece by piece,

Flesh by flesh

Neglected and rejected,

to nothing I shall be subjected

I'm just a mist of a woman,

of the one who was free

I'm all that is left,

bare bones for all to see

Yet no one can see me,

No one might even try

Some have skeletons in their closet,

I'm the one in mine