My Real Hometown

I came from Spooky Hockey,

a fairly accurate name bestowed upon me by a 5-year-old.

From my pink, quilted baby blanket.

It smells like my mom still,

Despite being dragged to hell and back.

I am from Nuhnuh the pacifier,

serving as more of a cork to stop up my shrieks than anything.

I came from the far-off land of being the princess of the family.

It would be better named the land of “That’s a girly movie!”

“You’re such a baby.”

“No, my guy is not falling in love with your guy.”

“Out of my room!”

which usually ended with “Go play with your stuffed animals!”

Few people understand that this land isn’t actually all bad.

For every princess in trouble,

there’s a pirate, a ninja, and a Marine to save her.

I just might always reside in that world of combat boots,

jet noise singing me to sleep,

running at full speeds once that rope hits the ground,

trying desperately to remember what he looks like among all of the other strong men.

A world of “I’ll miss you.”

Followed by double rainbows,

promising that my world will remain delightfully unchanged for the most part.

Where I’m from,

Woody the Cowboy is your personal escort absolutely everywhere.

Obsessions are constant there.

Oprah Winfrey and her husband Dr. Phil,

Kiki the Witch and Simba,

They are the celebrities everyone is buzzing over.

There the most valuable currencies are hugs and butterfly kisses.

The only pillow worth having is a giant, fluffy dog,

the rise and fall of her barreled chest rocking me to sleep.

Meanie is the worst insult that comes to mind,

And people don’t actually mean it when they say “I’m not your friend anymore.”

I am from those moments,

from my own reality.

I reject yours and substitute my own.