Where I Come From

I come from a humble people
from third grade educations
eighth grade drop outs
From people who learned how to love with their fists
long before life taught them how to love with their hearts
I come from complicated beginnings
and equally complicated endings
I come from sweat of the brow being broke
from everyday regular indian folk
Except for I say, “Indigenous people”
That’s my five dollar-decolonized-multisyllable-college educated-woke word
But my pops says, that he was born an indian and he will die an indian
I come from a proud people
from those whom have learned to boast their history like battle wounds
those who can rattle off hard luck coming’ up stories and make them sound like hymns
We have backstories that we can recite on the dime with a spin
Making the unimaginable have a hell of a punch line
We have mastered the art of laughing at hard times
You can’t learn that gut wrenching soul tickling wound healing medicine laugh in any classroom
you learn it by living it
By giving circumstance a good ol’ fashioned licken before forgiving it… or not
Who I come from is like that closet in your house that holds the junk that wants to burst open and spill out infront of prim and proper company
We are messy… and jumbled up.. and embarrassing
because there is generations of shit in that closet that has never quite been sorted out
but there is some really fucking cool stuff in there if you actually look
There is so much worth keeping
There is so much more to love
I come from a people who knew a hard days work
from calloused hands and dirt and sweat stained shirts
from fried bologna, and fried potatoes
from lard in a cast iron pan
from a cast iron pan held tight in a lovers hand
I come from home made kitchen remedies
from faded up jail tattoos
and from a perfected recipe of home made brew
that also came from jail too
Baby I come from messy and sometimes down right fucked up
I come from the bottom
But I have learned how to fill the space up with love
This is where I come from
There are so many faults in our stars
but the imperfect……makes the best kind of constellations