Where I'm From by Wesley Dirmeyer
I’m from little chipped blue coffee cups
Heart covered ceramic plates.
I’m from the dirt pit in the backyard
Wasted hours and toys.
I’m from the shed, trapped, waiting in a hail storm
Holding onto big shaggy dogs.
I’m from the little green Tonka train
Riding through the house
I’m from the church sinners now
Entire family packed in.
I’m from the sound of open fields
Wind blowing leaves.
Yet I’m still from the crowded streets
Walking home alone.
I’m from the empty house
Now I’m from the crowded apartment
Filled with dolls and make-up.
I’m from the bad father
Only lesson was how to be a good one.
In my room is my staple, my lifeline, my jukebox,
Filling the house with happier times and sad memories
Carrying on the party for everyone else.
Memories talk and tell you all about a person and where they come from. The tiny small memories are always the ones that can tell you the most about someone.
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