“I am from…” – Branden Guerrero

I am from piled sheet music, from 

Budget D’Addario violin strings, and 

I am from the laboring streets, popcorn ceilings and cold, cracked walls

I am from both the palm trees and flocks of pigeons, the starless night sky.

I am from gossip at the table on holidays, from lies and deceitfulness, from Alberto, Myriam, and Maryann. 

I am from unrelenting excuses and laziness, from 

“Speak with your chest”, and “Look me in the eyes when I talk”.

I am from liking alone time to the point of it being religious, avoiding social interaction at all cost

I am from the New York, and Puerto Rico, rice and beans, from my grandfather leaving my grandma for another woman to whom he married and left his wealth to, I am from ashes (Awkwardly enough, my building  recently burned down so we lost the pictures along with many other possessions)