I am from stove top hot dogs, from Campbell's soup and hand me downs.
I am from white siding in the ghetto, with scuff marks and tears on the inside walls.
I am from vines on a chain link fence, the petrified plants on the boundary.
I am from spring cleaning, and Isaac Branscomb.
I am from cheats and thieves.
From "you break it you buy it" and "you're not old enough to understand".
I am from Southern Baptists, and walking to church by myself.
I'm from Branscombe, England. From homemade French toast and tater tot casserole.
From being adopted to both parents death, the aneurysm and lung cancer, and sisters drug addictions, from unspeakable acts and bad dreams.
I'm from the pictures lost from the move and memories that fade away as I try to forget the nightmare of my life, from hiding emotions because of fear to not being able to show them now, from not being able to tell someone that I love them.
