I’m from the white picket fenced-in house,
with closed off doors and independence.
From unbrushed hair and untied shoes,
with scraped knees and grass stained jeans.

I’m from the crisp, dry summer nights,
barefoot on the mulch, like stepping on Legos.
From the 2am adventures under the starry sky,
speeding through life, 20 mph over the limit

I’m from the deafening silent drives,
listening to the car rattle and hum.
From the Tupac songs on repeat,
and the poorly paved country road ahead of me.

I’m from the I can’t and you can’t,
because I’ve learned, “where there’s a will there’s a way.”
From the desire to have something more
than the white picket fenced-in house, with closed off doors.