Where I Am Poem

I did it.

This is the final poem!

I have worked pretty hard on these, and I really hope you enjoy the last one. Happy reading!

I am in the milky way galaxy.

One of billions in the cosmos.

I am on the green planet full of life

that we all take for granted.

Where your skin color and gender

shape your life.

I was lucky enough,

to be born in the United States.

Born in the freezing cold Land Of Lakes.

But I moved away just last year.

To the land of Cloudgate, Lincoln and crowds.

I live in Chicago.

Not a suburb, or something else.

I am a child of 12 years old.

Homework and studying rule my nights,

while school steals my days.


I am in my body.

Short and skinny.

Probably too skinny, to be honest.

Indian, and tan-skinned.

I’m also Irish and German,

though I don’t look it at all.

Un-athletic and weak:

A toddler could beat me in a thumb war.


I am in my interests.

Taylor Swift and Harley Quinn,

I’m sure you didn’t know.

Anxiously waiting for Reputation,

and checking the mail for a shirt marked with Harley

Will Solace, too.

Son of the sun.

Dating darkness.

And I really don’t like Marvel.

Deadpool has never been appealing.

and Thor is just a bore.

I like the word squish.

Squash is also acceptable.


I am in my routine.

The first to bed, first to rise.

9 to 6, every time.

Except of course, for reading late. 30 minutes, every night.

Then I push it back to 10.

But eventually, I go to sleep. Snuggling in with a soft, warm blanket.

And then at 6 AM, my alarm is going off.

Driving down Lake Shore drive and then heading towards Old Town.

Walking into the gym, and going upstairs to my locker.

By Ms. Folger’s old room.

Open and close with a clang,

locker number 5.

Check my schedule,

head to class.

Weighted down by books and bags.

Wondering if I’ve forgotten the homework.

Rushing to make it on time to the room.

Pulling out notebooks and writing down fast.

At recess, inside jokes guide us to the library.

This or this? Tis popping? Yo homies, let us converse.

A safe space where we can laugh ’till we drop.

Stuck in the doughnut and erasers on fire.


I am in my talent.

I love to write, I have a real zeal.

Stories are my canvas and words are my paintbrush.

All these thoughts inside my head,

fit perfectly onto a clean, white page.

It’s a record that shows me how I’ve evolved.

An archive of papers, full of my passion.

All that I love and all that I am.

Slow and calculated, with precision and planning.

Jotting it down in sloppy handwriting,

The stories in my head all busy fighting.

Which of them will get to be told?

Typing and typing, faster and faster,

My brain and mine alone is the master.

I love to write, I have a real zeal.

To me, writing has such great appeal.


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