Where I'm From

I was from trees

maple and willow

I was from snow outside

and the snow inside

when my mother feared we’d freeze

I was from the jungle next door

backyard creeks that have long dried up

I was from from hundreds of make-believe worlds

soon to be left behind

I was from the smell of sweat, gas, and diesel

coming home at night

Treasures like these I keep locked up

Deep inside my mind.

Still more are stored, yet very few

Get to have a peek inside.

I am from the tip of a pencil

the ball of a pen

I am from duets in the kitchen

that quickly became household choruses

I am from conversations

with a thousand different subjects

Laughs and sobs and feelings shared

shallow and deep alike

I am from rhythm

hard or soft

with instruments real or synthesized

I am from spare batteries never found

even when needed most

To fuel the electric space

where forever friends have been made

To think of one’s room as a sanctuary

Is to assume they like it there.

When in reality some people’s rooms

Hold thick sadness in the air.

The only sanctuary some can find

Is in their calm and crazy minds.