I am from the dirt.
from the worn-out house and crumbled roads;
I am from the saddle, spurs, and scars,
its leather scrapped by my careless hands.

I am from the horsehair, hate, and hunger;
the love of horsehair, the hate of defeat, and hunger of riding.

I am from a barn;
one that isn’t red, but full of life.
I am from the ground
where I found myself on my back.

I am from the bruising and breaking.
The rodeo bucking and cloud of dust I fell into.
I am from the pain that fills me,
not from the fall.

I am from trust in my partner;
one with fur and four hooves.
I am from hope.
Hope I will ride again.

I am from the fortunate and unfortunate;
fortunate for my horse and country
but unlike many,
I am from choices and freedom.

I am from the defense and war on terrorism.
A high school student, weapon in hand.

I am from a rarity.
A type of uniqueness that’s un-relatable.
I am from riding and soldiering on.
I am unimaginable.