Child of the stars

I am a child of the pine trees
and ocean waves off the coast of Maine,
the dust stirred up on dirt roads
and the wooden boards beneath my bare feet.

I am a child of blood and bone 
and fireflies on summer nights,
a child of cloud chasing
and pondering wrongs and rights.

I am a child of the open sky;
my cradle is the moon 
under the thousands of tiny nightlights,
and the words maybe and soon –
no clear definition,
no want or need for more.

I live among the pine wood fae 
and frolic across the cold sea shore,
snails and shells in my bucket,
maple leaves stuck to my clothes,
the wind constantly nipping at the very tip of my smallish, pinkish nose.

I am a child of mountains tall 
and a state known for its green.
I am a child of a snowy spring
and the low hanging branches of weeping willow trees.
I am a child of the wind and the waves,
the scent of food homemade.
I am a child of wholesome good things 
mixed with a flair of scary unseens 
for no human is perfect,
no child is wrong; the things that we have done in the past
are long, long gone,
but I am a child of truths and memories,
ones that linger for my conscience to see.

I am a child of hope that there's faith in humanity,
of reasonable and unreasonable fears 
and dreams that society 
will grow into a kind and nice place to be,
not a place where people will frown at me
because I'm unafraid to be who I feel I should be.

I am a child of laughter and joy,
of understanding and apologizing more than I should,
of growing and learning,
smiling when things aren't easy.

I am a child of indecision,
constantly stuck in between things 
and never saying no when I should.

I am a child of nit-picking and sometimes getting up to no good.
I am a child of cookie jar theft
and the concept that all things can change.

I am a child of many different things
and so many different ways.
I am a child who paves their own path 
and carves out a place to be.

I am a child of wild wonderful things.

I am a child 
who knows I am me.