Where Do I Come From?

I come from the American Dream

I come from a happy family, alike in the same ways

I come from unusual support and love.

I come from white picket fences and golden retrievers without having either.

I come from a glass house.

I come from a glass home that never throws rocks.

I come from Jack and Kathy.

I come from silly paternal pride and sillier maternal mischief.

I come from weekends in my own bed.

I come from a chain reaction started by a bad pick up line at the Peanut Bar.

I come from my father’s persistence and my mother’s womb.

I come from water. Pure and sparkling lake water. 

I come from Adam. And John. And Abby.

I come from seven letters manipulated into four that will and forever label me.

I come from the good part of an impoverished city.

I come from the roles I never got.

I come from the warmth of the spotlight.

I come for the resin that keeps my dance shoes rooted.

 I come from time periods much before I can even imagine.

I come from the smell of the theatre.

I come from Ireland, Russia, England, the American South and Long Island (but only when it suits me)

I come from long hours of pretending to be someone else.

I come from the final bow and the tears that bring us together.

I come from the two filled seats on opening night and the flowers that wilt in the days after.

I come from my parents.

I come from the theatre.

I am grounded and growing in their love for me and my love for them.