I am from

I'm from the big bubble gum house on the block
where the smell of fresh lundry fills the rooms.
I'm from the phrase it's impossible at the end of each statment and when something goes wrong it's prepostorous.
my brother TJ and Ipod blasting the stereo to the tunes of B.I.G and his impossible flow with his words
my cousin tilia and sweets eating fried chicken, shrimps and white rice
I'm from basketballs rolling down the hallway as my father listens to the rolling stones
I'm from dirty football shoes left on the carpet from my little brother
I'm from graffiti on the side of the corner store the red sox world champs
Really this poem is impossible.