Where I'm From

I’m from a neighborhood where no neighbor knows the other
I’m from a town of which I only know the name
I grew up in the country, life centered around southern grandparents
And I’m from mindsets of which are not the same as my own

I’m from random people giving broken advice on the Internet
I’m from the cover of the blankets that hid my screen at night
I’m from a family who never knew a father
And I’m ashamed to admit most of these origins

I’m from embarrassment and superstition
I’m from curiosity in the third-eye mess I’ve been warned of
I’m not built from traditions, I’m built from insecurity itself
I’m from inability to elaborate since I’m not ever quite sure what I’m talking about

I’m from artistic ability I don’t care to put effort into developing
I’m from a loving family that doesn’t quite understand the matter with me
I’m from parasocial relationships that made up for the ones I missed out on
I’m from gentle prayers that I’d make it past this emotional bump in the road

I’m also from a quiet night that creeps up on you and swallows you whole
It makes you feel insignificant, yet it helps you begin to understand
I’m from standing alone in the dark setting of my backyard
Asking God where I came from and what my purpose is

I’m from friends I don’t really like, and I’m from friends who I scare off
I’m from vents disguised as the most immature sort of poetry
I must have been invented by someone very into abstract art
Because where I’m from is indescribable, yet it leaves a sour taste in your mouth

I’m from a room that I’m too lazy to bother to clean
I’m from multiple diagnoses that have been ignored because “we thought you were doing better”
My house is full of empty spaces from when old acquaintances used to dwell there
And where they come from, I do not know

I’m from a hard-working family who knows hardly anything of me past my age
I’m from stereotypes I cling to for a sense of identity in myself
I’m from proving to you that there’s nothing to worry about, but wishing you’d care
I’m from wishing for continuity because I don’t remember any other ways of doing things

I’m from “que sera, sera” after one has been in a state of anaphylaxis
I’m from shuffling sounds I once found comforting, and now I’m made sick by them
I’m from company and musical family friends, people that bring enrichment to my life
But this causes me to lose myself when they leave.