I come from a quartet of siblings
(I the youngest), whose songs
of laughter and trivial disputes were silenced.
I come from my crib
I climbed from every morning,
that I broke from relentless and frustrated shaking
after my parents took away my mountain of
blankets and toys in the corner,
a prison which, unlike the reality of
my family situation, I could manage to escape,
and go into the kitchen and
eat and be a happy, silly,
messy, and carefree child.
I come from the memories
my family made into movies: me
spilling the syrup while saying “Blah, blah, blah!” for
no reason; sitting in front of
the stone fireplace, repeatedly forgetting the “J”
while singing the ABC’s; sitting on the couch
punching the air to demonstrate
how I’d fight The Hook man (thanks to my sisters
letting me watch I Know What You Did Last Summer
when I was three), not knowing that there
really did exist a man
who was plotting to snatch
my siblings away from me,
but whom I could not fight because
he was on the other side of
the country in Fwoorda.

I come from Nintendo, the exciting and colorful
games I can no longer
play with my brother, fight over who’s
first (I usually won) and marvel at how
warm
controller was.
I come from the treehouse in our  backyard, which
my siblings should have hidden in,
and make fly away like we had done
before so the “nice men”
couldn’t find them and take them away.
I come from happiness, which
came from the innocence and
revelry of childhood taken from me
too early, happiness that turned to
hate for the man who lied and cheated
and tore my family apart, hate which
makes the bullet in his head and
  pain in his back a fair trade for the
pain he caused - I couldn’t understand why
my brother and sisters let that bad man
be their dad.

I come from loss, the loss of
family, the loss of desire to
seek out lasting relationships because
I know that relationships aren’t meant to last.
I come from indifference, not caring if
someone leaves as my siblings and
Mom and
Matt and
Shantelle and
Ciera and
Kait and
all my dad’s girlfriends
went away, because why should I
say anything and expect a stranger to
stay if my own family won’t?
I come from loneliness - hours playing
video games by myself (sometimes using
two controllers and missing
the warmth of my brother’s hands); taking apart and
rebuilding Bionicles into what I want (which I couldn’t
do with my life); listening to my parents’
arguments behind the wall late at night because
trying to sleep would have been
pointless, and crying because
inside I knew that
divorce, a horrible word
that a friend had taught me in
first grade, would mean something to me
three years later;
sitting on my bed playing guitar because
it’s the only thing that
keeps me sane and always
understands what I’m feeling, even if I don’t;
locking myself in that room which,
unfortunately, I have noone to
share with, that room where alone
is the way I’ve best learned to live.