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. 

Wow, all of your poems are absolutely spectacular! Rose Bud, I love how yours is kind of old timey, but its so beautiful and souds so real!

Now I'm going to try. Here goes nothing:

I am from salty waves,

From Coppertone sunscreen and my Yamaha flute

I am from the beach and the sand that gets everywhere

(In my hair and between my toes,

rinsed off by the cool outdoor shower) 

I am from the large grassy front yard,

Where we've played countless games of catch and capture the flag

I'm from the Christmas and Thanksgiving celebrations

with my wonderful cheerful family 

From my amazing Mommy and Daddy

And the generations of ancestors that came before me

I'm from skiing every winter weekend

and going out to dinner for special birthday meals

From "Go play outside first"

and "Leave your brother alone"

I'm from 2 religions and no religion,

and never going to church on Sunday morning

I'm from Italy

and my great grandma's immigration to give my grandma, and then my mom, and then me a better life. 

From pasta and chicken cacciatore

and Saturday morning pancakes

From the first time I held my baby brother in my arms at two years old

The day my mom tore her ACL skiing and I sat with her trying not to cry 

In big bins in the basement closet are the Christmas ornaments

decorated with special memories from years and years of our lives. 

Now that I think about it, there's a lot that I left out of mine. My dog, my best friend, s'mores, art, writing, playing softball, and lots of other stuff. To fit my whole life into a poem I'd need  much bigger template! 

I am from a book in my arms, sweet-smelling and oh-so-interesting,

From Royal USA Bb Clarinet Reeds and InkJoy pens.

I am from the neighborhood where kids play, full of trees and plants and sunshine.

I am from trees, their cool shade and the beautiful sunlight filtering through them.

I’m from eating fruit and loving to read,

From Lily and Jeff.

I’m from caring too much and exaggerating,

From “I love you, little one” and “Sweet dreams.”

I’m from no formal religion, but not atheist.

I’m from Danbury, Connecticut and I’m Chinese,

Watermelon, white rice.

From the time my dad lost his job in the recession,

The little money my mom had when she went to university in America.

The photos on on our computers,

(sorry to be blunt–this is modern times)

I am from the Digital Age,

And so are you.

Ok, so I saw this and gave it a try. It's not very good, but…. I feel like it kind of captures our family in a way. We live out in the middle of nowhere, and both my parents are pianists, so we have a bit of a weird situation XD Ok, here goes.

I am from the soft comfort of a blue sky

That cups gently over our bubble of woods and fields.

From crisp pages and soft music,

From the red-clayed garden out front,

That has slowly turned darker over years.

I am from the quiet of isolation,

From the peacefulness of solitude,

From the reality of distance.

I am from the dahlias that spread their petals,

Soft and pink, sweet and many layered,

From the tall, golden broomsedge

That snowed its seeds down on us when we played,

From the garden of herbs out front,

Their strong sweetness mixing with the heat of the Georgia summer.

I am from the rich smells and sounds and scents

Of rich jazz and thick curry,

Of evenings spent reading Tolkien on the porch,

Of the victories and defeats of games played with family.

I am from curiosity and sarcasm,

From far-away family friendship,

And close-to-home family bonds.

From “Go read a book”

And from “Stop reading and go outside”.

I am from settling down in red theater chairs and watching

Our pastor speak in front of castles and dragons and forests.

From warm Sunday nights spent wishing for air conditioning in a second story youth room.  

From watching actors play pretend on showdays

Where toddlers play pretend on Sundays.

I am from the piano that sits by itself,

Its keys holding music from all of us,

From dad’s practiced fingers and mom’s patient teaching,

From me and my siblings pounding out melodies,

The black and white keys that bind us together.

I had to do one of these in ELA class once. It was really fun!