Shoes with holes, Jeans with patches, Shirts that have seen Much better days. Still neat and clean But a well worn appearance That gains me the pitying glances And horrified looks Of old acquaintances. The hollow sound, Of my mother's voice As she explains I simply can't come home. Not this week. Maybe next. I'm not like them, Those other students. I can't just wait. I miss my family But I'm stuck here Not even allowed A few small luxuries. My face grows thin, Ragged clothes don't fit, My book bag is held together By only safety pin stitches. Time passes; so does class. Not this week either, But soon she promises. Soon I can go home. --Never soon enough.
