I’m from a little town where I never had to worry about the next meal, from a cream colored house with unlocked doors.

A town consisting of prim and proper,

where people belong to country clubs and drink champagne without purpose.

Homegrown from laughter circulating outside, 

rather than piercing gunshots. 

I’m from a little town where people complain about having a part-time job, from a house where my mother doesn’t have to work.

A town where people believe money grows on trees,

spending it like it’s water.

Homegrown from silver spoons, 

and being reminded that “elbows on the table isn’t proper etiquette.” 

I’m from a little town where my roots were formed.

A town that taught me to appreciate the life I was given.

Homegrown from a white picket fence, a town that applies to the theory that “the grass is always greener on the other side”.  

Hartland is the other side.