I am from lavender incense and musty books and fresh air
Fragrant lilacs and daffodils that consume the atmosphere like a plague
(From cliché terms and overused verbs)
Evergreen scented candles and that sickly sweet smell
That makes me nauseous and the Febreze I pray to my music lords
Will cover it up forever, like stuck-there-forever masking tape.
I’m from “people suck” and “they’re all idiots.”
“John Wayne had 70 pounds of undigested
Red meat in his colon when he died.”
I’m from paper and gel ink, shattered pencils
With no eraser and misplaced cordless phones.
The Wall of Fame and the Wall of Shame
And tree stumps and overgrown patches of grass.
I’m from a long line of addiction, a long line of anxiety,
And a long line of impatience.
(“I hate long lines!”)
I’m from surprise bags brimming with immaculate notebooks
Carrots and cabbage and potatoes-
Made separate for me, so the liquid of death doesn’t touch it.
I’m from endless nicknames (Barbara, Eugene, Lexington, Greta, Melanie)
And wishing that fiction was actually reality
And writing contests and art-themed magazines.
I’m from infuriating monotony and fleeing instead of fighting
From arguing at the dinner table,
And then laughing at breakfast.
I’m from “I’ll talk to him this weekend, I promise,”
And then trusting even less, and being paranoid about
Hidden cameras in THAT room. Then I realize it’s probably more than
Paranoia.