From the stab of the metal seat,
The mark that comes and seeps into my skin.
From the riding on the two wheeled thing they call safe,
But I’d rather call death trap in motion.
I am from the run down grass making my feet squirm,
To the dips of the road to the mailbox,
To the end of the trailer park.

I am from the sharp scales of my first fish causing me to bleed,
From the closed urns scattered across our land.
I am from. “That’s my girl”, “good job sport,”
From “it’ll be okay,” to “get over it,”
the shelves over flowing with objects of enjoyment.

I am from drunken men riding shakily up and down the trailer park on alittlee neon bike.
The pitter patter of God’s tears as they fall from his cheeks.
From dukes of hazard, and general lee,
The drift of a car as I crash against the same player.

I am from the backwards Oreo of sawdust days,
Thelittlee girl every bearded man at the turn of the trees protects.
Army men beheading Barbie’s for the crimes of false amusement.

I am from the fire flowing like molten lava through my veins,
Slow to act yet quick to harden.