I am from Westwood

From small towns and cozy homes

I am from neighbors who were friends too,

Friends closer than anyone

I am from falling leaves,

Yellow, orange, and vibrant red

Littering the ground where we walk.

I am from hot coffees and greasy pizzas,

Fierce sports teams and trips to the city.

I am from frigid winters and blankets of snow

From sweltering summers too.

I am from the house with the purple door

Growing further away out the car window.

I am from sad goodbyes and youthful ignorance.

I am from Doylestown

From rolling farmland and pretty homes

I am from kind neighbors and lots of friends

I am from tiny schools and big motivations

From quiet anxiety to a fragile confidence.

The historical town and brick buildings,

Young and new, so lost with nothing yet to call its own

Just like me.

A yearning for a place too far gone to recognize anymore

An arrival too late and connection too deep to assimilate into

I am from two places…

But none ever really feel like home.