Me.

I am from broken bottles
From dirty nails and tears.

I am from the moaning, drafty, corner house
Torn-up, paint-chipped, musty, passed-death smell.

I am from the meandering creeks
The old, cemetery oak whose long, strong limbs
Kept me warm and dry when I had no home.

I am from screaming and addicts
From Michael and Alexis
I'm from lethargy and inhalants
And from the courage only a little sister could give.

I'm from "I hate you" and "Just run away"
And from "Good Riddance, you filthy shit"
I am from abusive nightmares.

I am from America, Land of the Free, and welfare,
Scarcity and poverty.

From when I took the cocaine from my mother's sick hands
And flushed it.
I am the same nine-year-old who knew right from wrong.

Sticky, tormented pictures left with crooked smiles
Collecting dust in my mother's horrid home.

This is where I'm from
And I won't allow it to be my future.
But I cannot allow myself to forget,
I am broken bottles
That was once Me.