I am from old 70’s apartments;

Where the walls are cracked and thin like lips in winter.

From where the wind sounds like rain and a mad hatter attacks your toes.

I’m from where you have Medicaid just to get first aid

And gettin’ food stamps ain’t anything to be ashamed of.

I’m from the poverty level, not the poor;

Where the soil might not be rich but the soul is

And there isn’t money but there is unlimited love.

If love is not a currency then you’re living the wrong life.

Love is the only thing you can cash in when you’re dead.

I’m from where words are your safety net,

The warm winter blanket and the cup of coffee that’s just right.

Tall, 140°, mocha with a double shot.

From where syllables are my bedroom walls,

Diction is my art,

Stanzas are my punching bag,

And semicolons are the extensions to my life.

I am from Sleep No More,

Get Up, Stand Up and “it is written”.

From where “my thoughts are stars that I cannot fathom into constellations”.

I’m from the neighbourhood;

Where “my head is in the clouds but my gravity's centered”,

And “being me can only mean feeling scared to breathe”.

I’m from where “I believe in human lies” and where “I can barely hold my tongue,

To say the least I'm into you”.

I am from a heart mended so many times that I can no longer tell its color from all the scarred tissue.

From the hope that this girl will stick around a while because I sure am in love with her.

Where cuddling is a must, photo booths are preferred on dates

And 130 miles is nothing more than a temporary state of being.

Where the way she snores is a melody and the way she wakes up is nothing short of beautiful.

I am from where if I listen to her heart and then to mine,

“It's hard to tell our beats apart”.

I’m from where hearts are connected with bridges and

Where my future is featured in black with a tassel atop it,

Ready to be sealed by application decisions

And a walk across the Bengal stage.

From a future driven by love, learning and literature.

I am seasons plagued with pain,

Like a cobra ready to strike but paralyzed by potential.

I am from winters past, December’s here and the wait for snow to fall.

I am where winter is coming.