You ask me why I’m strong

As I search for where I belong

It turns out I have been checking in and out of hotels

Instead of finding my home.

I cannot write poetry anymore

’cause I can’t leave my night-lamp on when I walk out the door

And how should I sign my name when I’m only known as ‘Room no.604’?

You asked pointing at my suitcase what it holds

It has photoframes and memories waiting to go up on the walls

I never really unpacked out of fear that the concierge may again call.