I Am

I am from a big red door

that could have been bigger.

I am from the dust bunny colony

under my bed.

I am from chipped nail polish 

and hastily crimped hair.

From the nine O'clock curfew,

From the first-born throne.

The tripping, wandering, hands-out-in-the-dark, throne. 

I am from the tall grass. 

The kind that has no paths waded through it yet. 

I am from the lost, the loud, the longing.