I am from a little yellow home,

With a unforgettable green garage,

In the middle of a neighborhood packed of chaos.


I am from the sweaty days of big wheel bikes to the big rock,

Scooters down the road, and bloody tear filled scrapes all over.

I am from a world full of toys,

From dolled up barbies and foot damaging legos, to locking Brock with them.


I am from friendly next door neighbors to later grandparents down the road.

I am from long games of tag, cold games of ghost in the graveyard,

Late nights spent running around in the seemingly everlasting darkness.


I am from a loving family,

Embracing hugs and love filled hearts.

But let us not forget stupid fights with my brother,

Ending in baby powder caked bedrooms.


I am from shots under the street light,

Loud thunks of a basketball contacting the cement.

The ting of softballs flying off a new bat.

Chalk filled sidewalks of flowers and hearts.


I am also from a quaint little town,

Corn, soy, and trees.

With no bustling nor close proximities.

Complete with long four wheeler, helmet haired days

And smoke filled sticky bonfire nights.

I am from comforting Tim McGraw on long country roads.


I am from home cooked meals,

The infamous Nana Eisel eggs and the heavenly aroma of chicken noodles.

I am from waking up with Clifford and Arthur,

To late nights with Scooby and the gang.


I am from the only place I’d ever want to be.

I am from home.


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