I've got nothing here

I am from hands that never tire of cleaning

From fingers that reek of bleach 

That grips onto mops that have grown mold. 

I am from sponges

That try hard to clean away the mess.

Dirty counter tops and 

Jeans stained with hair dye. 

I am from hands with broken fingers that grasp desperately 

For another. 

Hands perfectly manicured with 

Cuts on the knuckles. 

I am from slammed doors and fabric softener.

The times were hiding in the dyer seemed like 

A wise idea. Or the large cabinet beneath the TV

Where the VHS tapes laid tucked away. 

I am from bruised knuckles

Palms scraped on concrete.

I am from dried flowers and never drying eyes.

Bikes broken from measly falls. 

And yells over my carelessness. 

But,

I am from untamed curls and thick thighs.

Lips that were told they were beautiful so often they couldn't believe anything else.

I am from the soft Spanish that lingers like silk

Inside of our throats.

I am crisp white catholic collars,

Of cigarettes hidden in bathroom stalls. 

The goth music tucked away in a household of mariachi.

I am from red lipstick and red nail polish

Hidden in backpacks said packed for sleepovers.

Bags that were taken on trips farther than LA

And teasing eyes that were held under

Dim bus lights.

I am from a woman who could never make up her mind.

From a girl who wanted nothing more 

Than to stop wanting,

But loved the feeling of being wanted. 

I am from this woman’s hands. 

And I will never forget that.