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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1004344-I-Come-From
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by ambs Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ · Prose · Friendship · #1004344
This is from an "I Come From" writing prompt.
I come from public housing framed in morning glories. Yards lined with high fences to keep the bad in and the good from ever having the chance to get out. Shocked eyes and weary faces from those utttering in disbelief, "You. Live. There." I come from the forced ashame that taught me of their fear.

I come from three generations of women. Stories of a coal miner's daughter and writing love letters during war. Sisters who sought love, only to lose it and find it again. Seeking beauty and charmers amongst broken mirrors and rocks. Fighting men, existence, cancer, and the loss of hope. I come from my cousin's beauty. Thoughts of the baby in her belly. Our hope for tomorrow.

I come from questioning papa's happiness and a wife's love. Eyes of a younger brother whose admiration makes me want to be something wonderful. Something more than what he sees in the baggage he was handed labeled LIFE. I come from his little fingers on little hands pursuing a tangible reality. Unafraid to ask why.

I come from Grandma's smell that is a Kentucky spring. Her feet light on wooden stars, the song of my childhood. Sitting upon strategically placed rocks, that acted as my privacy fence, beneath an acorn tree reading about Tom, Huck, and Holden. Books stacked upon shelves, tracing names with my fingertips, aspiring to one day be that good.

I come from leaving. Duct tape on boxes as I did the one thing I thought I never would. Escaping to the city. Riding trains and walking fast past hobos. Self-searching in city blocks and under city lights. The twenty-five thousand dollars it's taken me to realize that home is where I'll find myself because it is the one place I am always me.

I come from mix cds that act as our soundtrack on nights we race the Cincinnati skyline. Afraid that if we stop, the world will catch up with us, and whatever we are running from will become real. Stopping only to drink beer and gas station coffee, to smoke cigarellos, to walk to the fountain as we talk pretentiously about tomorrow. Never admitting we are scared as fuck.
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