I used to be from nights with street lamps 

and roads filled with cars.

From an apartment with two bedrooms

from which one I had shared.  

Now I am from nights on the porch  

And bright stars,   

from a house with a white picket fence

that restrains my yellow lab

I was once from a neighborhood where the 

backyard was a place my mom would not let us play. 

A place surrounded by sirens darting by

And thuds above my bedroom ceiling.

I am now from a place where my neighbors

visited with a toasty pumpkin pie. 

From a place where precisely cut lawns

are enclosed in silence.

I used to be from a place with damaged sidewalks

from which I would rollerblade with my brothers.

From a place we set our own boundaries on how

far we would go play from home.  

Now I am from a place of a backyard forest

 where my forts made of wooden pallets lay.

I am now from a place where 

boundaries don't exist.