What They’ll Never Tell You


It means living out of one suitcase.
Jeans and sweaters get tucked away, folded
and occasionally lost in the shuffle.
Some wrinkle unpleasantly
while others survive unharmed
by a life of cyclical and unending travel.

It means living in two homes,
a terrible medley of old and new.
One's given up, consumed by its dust and resentment.
The other's trying too hard with its overwhelmingly neutral colors.
It's bullshit layered between
two addresses in a school directory.

Locks change. Papers are signed.
Teachers are informed. Therapy is attended.
People try to understand--
Try.
And you appreciate every failed attempt,
But there's still one suitcase and two homes.

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