OMG-sharp!  I wrote one of these for my language arts class a few weeks ago!  Of course, we're out now, but I still have the poem.

I’m from pianos,

From white keys and black hammers.

I am from writing that formed songs on the keys.

(Sweet, practiced,

Just like middle C.)

I am from three different teachersl
Katy Perry songs

And the muscle memory I used to practice

To memorize my favorite songs.

I’m from saving and spending,

From Samantha and Klaus.
I’m from the short-tempered

And the careless,

From “be quiet!” and “I’m busy!”

I’m from Europe in the east

As well as China in the west

And a name as long as the US.

I’m from berry tarts and chocolate,

Smelling like sugar and tasting even better.

From getting cookie cutters I didn’t want

But using them like an artist,

The time I roasted marshmallows indoors.

Hung on my bed are many suits

Ready to use,

Smelling like salt

Waiting for summer to come again.

I am from imitating olympic gold medalist Michael Phelps

Going “Sploosh!” in the pool and playing capture the flag

And I made a bonfire out of a marshmallow.

Is it good?  I was going to add something about libraries and reading but i didn't have time. 

Top!

Top! I love your Poem, Lucy! I read it outloud to my mom, who was sitting next to me, and she loved it too! 

Rosy says orkp. No, Rosy, I wouldn't eat something called Ork Pie even if I was paid a magic ring! 

I wrote one of these! I didn't know there was a template, though, so I didn't use it. I saw one like it in my school's literary magazine and decided to try.

———

Untitled

I am from nowhere and somewhere, 

from clicking chopsticks,

the sharp scent of onions,

the smooth twang of voices

forming words, round and soft,

that fit into my mouth

like the mints

that Di 12 keeps in her purse.

I listen, but don't understand, and

speak, halting and slow,

with the wrong accent,

and wonder what I am saying. 

I am also from candles,

two, a pair of identical twins

in a race to see which

can melt faster,

from honey-colored bread

that is hot in my hands when I pull off a chunk.

It's sweet, like the dark juice

which sloshes in

fluted glasses.

I sing in a tongue

with even edges

and square corners

that tastes

just a little tangy

a bit like the doughy warmth

of the Challah

that they used to pass out

at snack time

at Sunday School.

I feel important

because, now, I know

what I am saying, though not

necessarily what it means.

I am from leather photo albums

and watermelon-stained grins

from steaming bowls of pho

and oily crisp-fried latkes

from colorful coconut candies and red envelopes,

from parched brittle bread and greens dipped in salt.

I am from places I have been,

and ones I might never see—

I am from nowhere

and from somewhere.  

Hah, we wrote these at the end of 6th grade 2 years ago. Mine is... Really bad, but I was young and an idealist so... I'll try to copy/ paste it from Drive:

I am from a land of bubbles, waves, and splashes

from late nights at practice to early mornings at meets

from laughter and memories; a place where hard work pays off

I am from the grasshopper song and falling asleep

to the soft notes 

of the “Moonlight Sonata”

from waking up before dawn to smell the spring air, as fresh as summer rain and staying up past midnight

watching the Perseids meteor shower fly by

I am from the place where you can see the miracles of life

and be grateful for the little things

robin’s eggs hatching

young deer peeking shyly from the brush

from the sweet call of the mourning dove

and from stars forming twinkling pictures in the night sky

I am from wild wineberries staining our fingers bloodred

and an ice cold brook where we would spend hours

exploring 

until we get lost

from a crackling fireplace in the winter to a grill filled with burning wood in the fall

I am from the bubble popping and wondering

“Where will practice be?”

I am from the swim team that refused to fall

that stood up to challenges

the team that survives 

And finally, I am from playing Uno and Wikipedia in the evenings

from cooking blini for breakfast,

baking bulochki for lunch,

and cooking galupsi for dinner

I am from family that says “I love you”

Every

Single

Night

I am from and of the water

blue and at the same time crystal clear

Hear that scream? That shriek of laughter?

Swim towards it, and maybe

you’ll find

Where I’m from

Ooh! These are great! You guys rock. I'll make one tomorrow, I'm tired now. 

Oh my gosh! I remember I did one of those a loooong time ago. I wodner if I can find it.

What I'll probably do is type that one out, and also write a new one....but I'll write a new one before seing the old one, that way I'm not influenced. 

This is the first time I've really tried poetry. Feel free to critique!

_________________________________________ 

I am a thing of ancient teachings

passed down l’dor va dor, from generation to generation

of burning candles in heavy brass holders brought

all the way from Europe on a boat

Passed through the women of my family: my mother, her grandmother, her mother

they’ll be mine one day, too.

I am of six-braid challahs

which my dad bakes, not my mom

I come from Hebrew songs and prayers

which I know by heart and teach to the children of my shull

From rituals, like shaking a bundle of plants and a citrus

helping friends to keep the willow branches alive

then watching them march in procession wearing tallit

looking as though they could be from any time at all

were it not for the huge windows.

I come from carrying Torahs in the streets, singing at the top of my voice

with my community behind me, just as loud

Just as proud that we can pray in public, unworried

This is the real reason my many-times great grandmother

carried those candlesticks to America.

I did something like this for myself:

I. I am of

The scritch-scratch of a pen on mass-produced

Paper--we always bought the cheap kind because we used so much.

II. I am of the whispering of the green-leaved

Trees when the autumn wind blows through them and they seem to laugh.

III. I am of the whizzzz and the buzzzz of 

Bike wheels rolling on the hot cement of the city.

IV. I am of the tangy, almost smoky-but-strange smell

Of fresh paint smeared on the canvas

I am of the smooth, silky strands of paintbrushes before they're immersed in colors.

V. I am of the undescribable, welcoming smell of a book

And rows and rows of them in color order on shelves, my small rainbows of happiness.

VI. I am of the clang of metal measuring spoons

Clouds of white flour in the air and

Sweet aromas drifting from the kitchen

VII. I am of joyful laughter and bright sun and music and running and dancing and loving.