People are made of places, they say.
Then show me the mountains growing from your arms,
The sea coursing through your veins,
The bog pouring from your glands,
The ice and wind blowing around and through you.
Where I come from, People are of places and times;
But they are from experiences, from choices made.
The bully: protect self or them; become him, her, or better-ed.
The absence of green: watch others starve; go without it yourself.
The girl: push to relieve oneself; be pushed to relieve.
She-man: to carry is to drown, but you’ll smile all the while.
The smog creeps under the door;
It’s still your decision to face it, to open the door.
Let the fog in, let it become you, let it choke you;
The person there, they are the true you. Do you like them?
Do you like where you’re from?