HomeI come from
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I come from
by Cristeta Tue Feb 05, 2013 3:39 pm
I come from rolling hills of emerald grass that swiftly changes into golden waves of an ocean
With spaced out comfy homes wrapped in the weeping widowed willows and palmetto bugs
Where my home is located on the one and only Main Street of a town lost in the past
We are not a community of low cut shirts and sagging pants.
We are modest, determined, old souled, and depleting like so many others
We are Corrupted by an enemy that lives a meager 30 minutes from us
I come from the worn building on the end of the street topped with a steeple
But when you open the doors where are all the young people
We whisper ancient hymns, scriptures and prayers
It is where we bow are heads and pray throughout Sunday on creaky wooden kneelers
Then we take the body of our one true salvation hoping that it will save us from damnation
I come from a hardworking ma, a disappearing dad and a cultural kaleidoscope
My grandparents were my second parents, and my stepdad my real dad.
A place where we say mahal kita not I love you
Then we get together in immense quantities and eat pancit on holiday for long lifeWith spaced out comfy homes wrapped in the weeping widowed willows and palmetto bugs
Where my home is located on the one and only Main Street of a town lost in the past
We are not a community of low cut shirts and sagging pants.
We are modest, determined, old souled, and depleting like so many others
We are Corrupted by an enemy that lives a meager 30 minutes from us
I come from the worn building on the end of the street topped with a steeple
But when you open the doors where are all the young people
We whisper ancient hymns, scriptures and prayers
It is where we bow are heads and pray throughout Sunday on creaky wooden kneelers
Then we take the body of our one true salvation hoping that it will save us from damnation
I come from a hardworking ma, a disappearing dad and a cultural kaleidoscope
My grandparents were my second parents, and my stepdad my real dad.
A place where we say mahal kita not I love you
Or if you travel down the road we eat black eyed peas on New Year’s Eve for good luck
I come from a line of disorders passed from my grandpa on down.
I was born into challenge and complications but live for the thrill of the ride
I am a contradiction in itself because I am an mental artist but never an physical artist
My mind blurs as I create what comes from my soul Rush, rush it says. Hurry before you lose your mark
I am forever a creative, compassionate, cooperative, collective, common yet complex collage.
Where I come from is a blank book craving for new stories and tales to be written down
I come from a child of two with siblings of two and a family of many
I come from the American dream and it’s not so typical melting pot
I come from the teachings that it takes a village to raise a child and that home is where the heart is
And if home is where the heart is then I come from a community stuck in the past
Cristeta- Guest
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