I am from the house with the paint not done and the grass not green,

the ugliest one on the street.

I am from a heart—

broken from people ripping out my trust and throwing it to the floor.

I am from sad nights alone in my bed room—

only my television screen illuminating my black walls keeping me company.

I am from music—

from trying to play each note precisely.   

I am from summer nights—

huddled around the crackling campfire with my closest friends.

I am from car rides—

headed to the rusty trailer up north.

I am from two homes—

from two people who couldn't be more opposite.

I am from a smile—

one that’s not real but, one have to show.

I am from hopelessly looking up at the night sky—

looking for shooting stars—

yet knowing my wishes never come true.

I am from the house with the paint not done and the grass not green.