Where I'm From

I am from dusty drawers that haven't been opened in years,

from wood polish and rags.

I am from the music who has the shame of not being listened to.


I am from the cracks between the sidewalk,

taking in all of the dirt

never forgetting where it came from.


I'm from the squeaky space in the door and under the floor boards.

I'm from the loud and the soft.

I'm from the confused and the straightforward.


I'm from the old and the new,

being told this and that.

I'm from the close and the distant,

from when my and granddad didn't talk for 12 years.

I'm from the knee my grand mom replaced 3 times,

just to walk. 


In my drawer is an envelope,

saving up hope,

pushing keeping in the good, 

not sure if its in my grasp.

I am from 16 years,

feeling like a blink of an eye.

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