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.