Who I am.

I am from a crimson coloured brick house,
The one that sat on the street called 'Wolf'.
I am from the furry sea green carpet
That laid beneath my sticker-covered bunk bed.

I am from a mother, but no father,
And a family bond that was impossible to break.
I am from the dirtied bare feet on concrete,
And the limitless freedoms of summer.

I am from Pokémon and Yu-Gi-Oh! cards,
And the repetitive watching of Disney movies.
I am from 'Goodnight Moon' and Dr. Seuss,
Classic Nursery Rhymes and the great Shel Silverstein.

I am from the mountains of stuffed animals,
And the countless boxes overfilled with Barbie dolls.
I am from the rusty, honeybee infested swing set,
And the gigantic blue-rimmed trampoline.

I am from my grandmother's infatuation with Elvis,
And the daily dose of country music.
I am from the overwhelming fear of the laundry room,
In which was draped in thousands of cobwebs.

I am from houses made of cardboard and imagination,
And the revolting taste of cough syrup.
I am from, "Practice makes perfect",
And, "Liars' tongues turn black".

I am from the excitement and rush of Halloween,
And the constant curiosity of my Aunt's room.
I am from peanut butter and banana sandwiches,
And hiding safely under bed sheets from nonexistent monsters.

I am from the army of Dandelions that formed my front yard,
My obsession with everything coloured red,
My two dogs, Bruddis and Nuno, now gone.
I am from precious memories locked away safe,
Never to be forgotten.