I am from…

A closet of memories and a Facebook of pictures I will never delete.

My friends saying, “Getting dat fo sho!” to my mom saying, “Did you forget to call?”

A yard with dog toys lying around, a garden that used to be my playground, and a trampoline I have fallen off of way too many times.

My mom’s apple pies, breakfast casserole, tacos and my Aunts sugar cookies.

Getting in trouble for clogging the vacuum from my bobby pins being left around the house.

The vacation to Barceló, Mexico where every night when 9PM rolled around we met up with strangers that are now our friends.

Kim and Greg, whom I seem to not look like, but have my mom’s paranoia and my dad’s craziness.

A neighborhood where I’ve seen the same people for the last 12 years walk their dog, drive home, swim in their pools, and do a summer cook-out.

A garage with a black, rusted, old Eagle Vision, which I drive around.

My parents saying, “I love you!” and “Drive safe!” will never get old.

All these people, places, and things make up where I am from, and after this poem I realize it’s safe to say it’s all just my home.