I'm from green bottles
and brown water.
I'm from handlebars and cigarette runs.
I'm from gun store, gun store, gun store,
liquor store, funeral home, beauty salon, church.
I'm from wine colored hymn books.
Wooden pews fit for a bus stop.
I'm from pastors that preach like a wallet.
I'm from C-sections.
Latch keys and night shifts.
Absent father. Single mother. Only child.
I'm from project windows and GED test-takers.
I'm from bail money.
I'm from drive bys in broad day
smoke twirling like a choreographed gang war.
I'm from Cadillac leather
with a body like a spaceship.
I'm from barber shop conspiracy theories.
Melanoma skin cancer.
Remission. Recurrence. Survivor.
I'm from the foot my aunt lost in the surgery.
I'm from the bullet in my uncle's hand.
I'm from you better be in this house before the streetlights come on.
I'm from dreadlocks swinging like bones in a windchime.
I'm from men easily muddied by a drink.
I'm from framed obituaries.
I'm from screen doors that watch over children
who believed lightning bugs were stars that wanted to play with them.
I'm from dropouts, I'm from legends.
I'm from I wasn't supposed to make it this far.
https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=872532825843367
