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Memoir: To Growing Up
I am from a playground that has been sold
From training wheels and scraped knees
I am from the two-bedroom house on the corner
(Small, quaint,
It felt welcoming)
I am from the overgrown grass,
The garden with no flowers left
I’m from the late-night drive and the addiction to Baskin Robbins
From Perkins and Hidalgos and Romeros
I’m from the unexpected road trips and getting lost on the way there
From the “goodnight my lovebug”
And “we're almost there”
I'm from age-old Christians,
That have strayed from their faith
I'm from a small town in the middle of nowhere
sugar cane and grits,
From the snacks, my mom made me every day after school
The brother I met for the first time when I was seven
The old dusted fitness box
Filled with worn and jaded pictures abandoned in the attic
I am from these moments that made me, me
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This is a poem about my past