I am an American. I am a bursting bubble! I survey with an expectant smile. Enthusiastically I trample around. I offer hugs. I throw myself. I have a shadow self. I say it will be alright. And then it isn’t. And then I squash the best parts of myself. Down with all that isn’t boisterous glee. Facets spark in different light. In one hand I offer, one hand is a fist. Love me, hate me. It’s fair. I’m more restless than you know. I know where I’m from, but what is home? Still I admit – proud? Of what, being born? – I am an American.