I’m from day long shenanigans with my older brother
pouring oil over the kitchen floor,
breaking Grandpa’s chair
followed by apologies to Grandma and Grandpa

I’m from guessing games
“When in doubt go with B”, “if B’s too much, then C it is”
if it doesn’t make sense that’s not the answer, right?
I’m from half-fast chores
if I don’t do it, no one will
when I do it, Mom’s floors will be clean
If  I don’t sweep will she notice?

I’m not from a “happy harmonious home,”
the anger doesn’t mask
prevalent jealousy for random loving gifts
I am not from a typical suburban home
our love for each other is not spoken of,
not much is spoken of 
I am not from a “harmonious” home,
daily arguments with Julian and dad
dishes, opinions, loud voices 
clashing and crashing

I’m from a red accent wall,
a dinner table always cluttered with business papers and children’s books,
an accent wall reflecting mom’s vibrant loving personality
red conveying dad’s self-hatred and anger