I am from guided voices,

dancing in the night air.

I am from the bark on the trees.

(Endless crevices of marvelous wonders,

it felt like scabs on my knees.)

I am from empty bottles

filled with smiling eyes

whose laughter and tears slide down my throat

filing my soul with warm joy.

I'm from cigarette butts and clouds

from awkwardness and gracefulness.

I'm from the insane

and the carnies,

from Speak up! and Shut up!

I'm from clothes that have been around the block a few times

with a thick odor of history

and scars that mach my own.

I'm from parks and bars,

TV fuzz and wood paneling.

From the dirt under my fathers nails

to the vacant stares of my mothers eyes

from the wrinkles on my grandmothers face.

Flipping through the scrapbook that is my mind,

trying to relive and remember every memory in that book.

I am form those moments--

falling from the tree, my apple is half eaten before it hits the ground.