I am from neatly made beds
though not done by me,
Holes in my sweatshirts
now patched, but I was never bothered,
I’m from baggy sweatpants
in a house of dress pants, and jeans

I’m from a shaking home
strings of music more like light,
Took me to another world;
vivid as dreams, twisting with color
I’m from becoming encompassed in sound
made by Hendrix, Waters, and Page

I’m from steaks and torches
waiting outside my window,
Walks long as day through halls
and snow on the walls,
I’m from dishonor
an intelligently troubled mess

But in a distant future I hope to be from suits
custom fit with a brand new tie,
court rooms, shiney yet dark
read every movement on the witnesses face,
I hope to work with law:
Not to oppose, but to defend