Where I'm From, By Sasha Sapp

A once quaint streak of depressingly similar 18ft wide, boxy, West Philly row homes-

now infested with the bellows of

“OHHHHH YOU TRYNA BUST???”

Is where I’m from.

Where voicing verbal lashes of insults with your very best friends are the norm.

And if the insult wasn’t “good enough” then

“That shit was ass”

is the retort for your failed attempt of humor.

Yep, I’m from

Teeth chattering and hand numbing winter nights of 20 and below

On a cold and unwelcoming cemented porch

Where adolescents bundle air tight with each other’s limbs and torsos

like horror-struck kindergarteners

clinging dearly to their mothers with a suffocating iron grip on the first day of school.

Where being together in the cold of the night was more important then being warm, cozy and sane

apart.

I’m from

“Yo, what’s ya name?” and “Damn, who’re you?”.

Where apparently silence isn’t taken as “I’m clearly NOT interested”.

I’m from summers of sweating puddles, shopping obsessively, and

Singing badly.

I’m from persistent car alarms screeching ear-popping pitches,

all because our football decided to take air in its own route.

Where shades of mocha, caramel, and vanilla

strut underneath towering tracks of the EL,

pushing aside outward differences for a mere moment-

is where I’m from.

Yeah, I’m from

Horrendous animal nicknames, tedious trips to the “Papi’s”, and

hyena-like fits of laughter with my very best friends.

Yeah…

I believe I’m from those days

with my very best friends.