Where I'm From

September 16, 2016
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I am from a swaying screen door, a soundless doorbell,
and a squeaky wooden swing set.
From the monumental pine trees that watched me grow,
and playing with plastic dinosaurs in the gritty, red sandbox.
I’m from fishing trips in the cold dewy morning,
waking up before the sun, and stale Wednesday donuts.
I’m from the puppy farm, and pink pebbles in our fish bowls,
from “fake it till you make it” and deep breaths that last ten seconds long.
I’m from alternative music that lets my soul escape,
and from appendicitis, brainfreeze, and tummy aches.

I’m from a brick home with chipping white paint.
Arriving at three to find the house filled with familiar voices.
I’m from a place that is bigger on the inside,
like the hearts of the ones that live there.
I’m from a healthy backyard sprinkled with dandelions,
a white barn, and pastures that stretch for miles.
I’m from a carpeted hallway dotted with old photography,
from mustard yellow countertops,
and handpainted pictures faded by the sun.

I’m from crying at graduation ceremonies,
from my dad losing his job, and me getting my first one.
I’m from memories that fade away,
but mostly from the memories that have yet to be made.
I’m from caring about the “little things,”
and from not wanting to let go.
I’m from those plastic dinosaurs that have now gone extinct,
and from the tremendous pine trees that watch me every day.

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