Art In Action
I am from Mop Buckets, from jet puff and white bread.
I am from the egg smeared walls with the empty ghost like feeling.
I am from the tree splattered land, the fresh evergreen time whose long gone, limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I’m from Budweiser and fighting, from Uncle Rusty and Aba.
I’m from gaming and ditching school and from foster care.
I’m from kneeling in the corner and if you don’t stop crying I will give you something to cry about.
I’m from missed birthdays, from cancer on the spine, the loss of feeling in arms and legs, to falling and never standing.
From hand-me-downs in the closet.