I am from lies,
scripted and not.

I am from tragedy
as the years rolled past.
Smiling, pretending,
I learned my lives.

I am from imagination,
something required as I lived yet another
while a red monster taught us addition.

I’m from heritage,
A Celtic mystery
that may include Scotland.

I’m from anomalies,
unique to the hood.
Always covered, never bared.

I’m from religion unproved.
Catholic no longer,
a bare cathedral a biblical tomb
beneath ten laws never learned.

I’m from friendly reap,
even fish eventually drown.
Zeus, Zoey, an alerting chime,
possibly the murderous Casey.

Beside the Court, beside my house,
stood a wooden home.
A hide away of secret escapes
before a fateful fall.

I am not from the cuts,
but rather thousands of Band-Aids.
The torn paraded with forgotten friends.