Where I’m From

We May Have More In Common Than You Think.

A writing instructor once introduced me to the “Where I’m From” poetry movement — an attempt, I think to relate us to our neighbors and beyond.

It has always been my belief that each of us have hard lives to some degree; while reading others stories I found commonality in our own unique experiences.

I hope you’ll share with me, where you’re from.

Where I’m From

I’m from a 12 unit apartment building paid for by the government.

I’m from growing up lonely in a room full of people.

I’m from playing tag and kick-ball in open school yards.

I’m from loathing gym class.

I’m from watered down education and graffiti on bus benches.

I’m from stealing coins out of other people’s wishing wells.

I’m from Guess jeans and Wednesday night youth groups.

I’m from sidestepped obligations and unreliable narrators.

I’m from Scandinavian fingerprints.

I’m from the wrong side of wooden railroad ties.

I’m from stray dogs and missed opportunities.

I’m from playgrounds where white guys would slow down to take a visual bite of my 14 year old ass.

I’m from stealing Sunday papers and pulling up tulips.

I’m from lilac bushes and 3 foot snow drifts.

I’m from foodstamps and government cheese.

I’m from eating cool whip straight from the container with a spoon. For breakfast.

I’m from keeping up appearances.

I’m from displaced anger and lingering regrets.

I’m from never seeing my father’s shirts hang in a closet.

I’m from Aqua Net hairspray and forbidden Cyndi Lauper videos.

I’m from being beaten with plastic hangers and pink hairbrushes.

I’m from all that has happened.

I’m from possibilities yet to be.