I Come From...

I COME FROM…

I come from where the hills meet the plains

Plain Janes and mud stains

On the torn knees

Of loose-fitting blue jeans,

Only girls wear ‘em tight.

Bumps in the road

Making old American-made trucks

Bounce to and fro,

Toads and wet sprockets croaking

In the semi-damp dry twilight.

I come from schoolyard fights that meant nothing

Bullying making man-boys more “masculine”

If the skin ain’t scuffed,

Then I ain’t using it right.

I come from love, lasting forever

Four walls and a roof consistently,

From tornado country to

Lands where volcanoes live.

Student of the privileged class,

Studying what my whiteness implies.

Shaken awake - second wind coming

In the middle of the night.

Blue flame questions

Burning white hot

When nobody’s watching,

Because that’s where

My most honest Work manifests.

I come from having the answer

Or avoiding it entirely

A man in the mirror, making changes…

Because “even a genius asks questions”,

And so maybe just maybe

My Questions will be what define me

When I’m gone -

Not merely my answers.

I am a Storyteller every single day

No if’s, and’s or but’s about it

A living breathing document,

Forever unfinished.

I breathe in the present, and

Breathe out the future

Because I am…

In process.

***

~OB.