I am from the classic books I’ve never read,

But were rather read to me

I am from a useless pulley in a tree,

Which was never used to hang laundry

I am from the murky caney pond that isn’t for swimming,

But somehow I ended up in

I am from warm pineapple casserole,

Which is good, despite being a casserole

I am from old nostalgic e-mails,

That are still archived on my account

I am from my worn out mattress on the floor,

Which, in my opinion, is the perfect place

I am from an old rusty shovel,

That I use to break into our shed

I am from the giant truck tire,

Which belongs to a truck I’ve never seen

I am from the plow sand at the end of our driveway,

Which is was better than any beach

I am from childish journals on my over packed shelf,

That in retrospect seem risque

I am from a strange but wonderful life,

Where normal is not