I am homeless though I have a home.

I have never spent a night at my permanent address.

It is my mom’s house, but not my home.

I am homeless though I have a home.

I have a room on campus;

My things hang on the walls,

And my clothes fill the drawers,

But it is not my home.

I am homeless though I have a home.

For a weekend each month, I leave my campus room.

I stay at my sister’s house, in a room that is really her office.

An office is not a home.

I stay at my aunt’s house, too, in a spare bedroom.

It has been dubbed mine, but there is nothing there that is mine.

It is a home, but not my home.

I am homeless though I have a home.

I move my belongings from room to room.

I am in a different building or house each time,

But I have no permanent claim to any of these structures.

I am homeless though I have a home.