"Where Am I From?"

They ask me where I’m from—real sweet,

Like it’s a place I clearly know.

But moving every year on repeat

Means roots don’t get a chance to grow.

I’m from a room that’s packed with care,

From boxes labeled “fragile” tight.

From learning not to stay, not stare,

And starting over overnight.

I’m from salutes and boots by doors,

From early flights and nights half-slept.

From uniforms in rows so neat,

And promises we always kept.

I’m from the friends I had to leave,

From waving while the taillights fade.

From learning quickly how to grieve,

And saying “hi” just like I stayed.

I’m from the bases near and far,

From desert heat to mountain snow.

From playgrounds built beneath the stars

Of towns I may not ever know.

So where I’m from - it’s not one place.

It’s every step along the way.

It’s strength that doesn’t need a base,

It’s who I am each moving day.