I am from Coach perfume, from Tide and sodium lauryl sulfate.
I am from painted iron fences and dusty, dirty feet.
(The smell of horse manure, made present by the wind.)
I am from the Hickory trees, the lilac bushes and the gloomy pine trees
that sit bent out of shape from years of play.

I am from “Prost!” and beer, from shots of Jägermeister on Weihnachten,
and liver sausage on rye bread.
I am from whirlpools, itchy eyes, a near death underwater experience conceived
by my brother, and lathering on sunscreen, hoping to avoid the
inevitable.
From “He didn’t mean it,” and “He’ll grow up someday,” which translates to
“Deal with it yourself.”

I’m from VHS tapes, and pictures of former friends stuck to vanity
mirrors, and an old German bible sitting untouched in the ‘big room.’
I’m from stained wood floors, a haunted unfinished basement, and a garbage
closet engulfed by flames.
I’m from the time Gaby and I ran over the pine trees in our front yard,
from Jake almost drowning me in our aunt's pool, and fighting older brothers for the TV remote.

I am from wheezing laughs while playing Cards Against Humanity, from
crying in my room because life isn’t fair, and from unfinished acrylic
paintings for past friends.
I am from nights spent in the ER until 3 AM, from missing large amounts of
school, and from comforting arms that smell like Coach perfume.