I Am From

I am from the walls formed by sticky notes and the quotes of my inspiration,
I am from the antique mirror the throws my reflection back with a golden shine,
I am from the half painted memory box that lies forgotten deep under my bed.

I am from the brick path that twists and bends around the dying rose bushes, littered with their fallen petals,
I am from the decaying white mushrooms that give the small faeries shelter from the mourning sky,
I am from the small gnome that greets the world with his cherry hat and glistening smile.

I am from the rotting benches that decorate the streets with lovely splintering wood,
I am from the forgotten drains that digest the rain when the skies weep,
I am from the stone house with sprinkled silver bricks.

I am from Jay Brannan, “And this world will soon be the death of him, and his voice will fade away, and his jeans will be all that's left of him, and they'll wonder if he was okay.”
I am from Say Anything, “I saw, I smelled what he did to you girl, and to be frank, the thought makes my innards curl, how he prayed on your ripe insecurities.”
I am from Lister Sinclaire, "Same old eyes, same old world but the difference is how you look at what is in front of you, not what it is."

I am from my uncle Keith when I notice he's the only man that's not arrogant,
I am from the pretentious woman I call my mother,
I am from the faceless name that is my father.

I am from “Make sure you start dinner,”
From, “Do the dishes,”
From, “What were you thinking?”

Author's Note

A dumb english project.

Reviews

[StoryTailor]

Ah. You're coming from a lot of little places no? (haha! Yeah. ... I don't quite get it either). It was a good write anyway.