I am from the steam, boiling pot of ramen noodles,
Car oil and sawdust staining my skin
from Paper Towel brand paper towels and Dawn brand Dish soap
From Bud Light cans to Fifths of whiskey
I am from the mold of wet wood, from a house of glass and rock,
From the cramped space and thin walls
Hot, Angry, Smelly, Tight, Cloudy, lost
It felt like we were made of the glass rock surrounding us.
I am from the rusted rims, I am from the big backyard, i am from the cramped sounds of shouting
The Rusted rims stuck up high, a tower held stable but being torn apart.
The Big Backyard marking out what was ours, all this space and yet I cannot escape.
The sounds of shouting being normalized by repetition, not natural to you but a natural occurrence to me.
I’m from the caring and from the drunk.
I’m from the God fearing fearful family hiding from Him in a cloud of smoke and a castle of empty cans and bottles.
From Dana and Morgan who got clean for health and love
From Brett and Sean whose love is for their poisonous fix
From Louis and Tara who would do anything for their little babies
From Bob and Tim whose patience has grown thinner for sons long lost
I’m from the emotional abuse and the constant telling of “Good Job!”
I’m from the “God Dammit” and “God Loves you”
I’m from the “God Loves All” and the “God hates YOU”
I’m from the hiding behind a closet door full of deception and lies
I’m from being forced out and finding a escapeway to another closet filled like the last, with lies from the
past
From never drink and watch me drink down my sorrowful cries
from “never be afraid to be you” to “Who have you become?”
I’m from family who told me to believe God is all. He loves all.
I cannot love that which cannot love what i feel
I’m from Drinkers and Druggies
Oyster Stew and Grandmas Cookies
I am from 3.
3 families
3 homes
3 traits I dare not call my own
3, the triangle is the strongest shape. Wish I could be made of triangles. 3 is the family divided by old age and pain, no change ever to be found. Hard as a rock and hands covered in marks of fighting to keep me in 3.
2, every story has it’s 2 sides. Wish the feeling of being forced to pick sides would be gone. 2 is the family divided by a 2 sided blade. Slashed down the middle, the divide forever growing in size, I sit and listen to their cries feeling powerless. Two, divided they stand forever listening to fake laughs and breaking glass.
1, everyone has at least one flaw. Perfection is a flaw, because perfection is a lie. Their fake perfection dies at the opening and closing of the door, blocking out the world that they swear is the cause of their habits. How can it be their fault if the fault is not claimed? This one is a family combined all under the intoxicating toxicity of alcohol.
I wish to change the world for the world has always been changing around me. I wish to build houses for the poor by employing the people who need funding the most.
I am from a house, upon a house, upon a house…...3 families all flawed between 2 drugs and alcohol, united under me. One.
Where am I from? I am from the everything, choosing to try and keep nothing hidden. I have searched for the cure, hastily trying to put bandaids on bullet holes. Leaving holes in my family, I try to fix them all. But I am surrounded on all sides by the people who shout, no wonder I cannot keep a sound,.. fascinated by the horrifying realization I have to switch who I am for every family,... I go…
Who am I?