Feeling like October stuffed between Winter's mattress like hiding money from mom.
Those golden fingernails searching my room to see if I had shamed the family.
I do intend for her to keep searching...she may find my hiding place just behind the vanity.
But she is too busy puffin' smoke by the ciggy.
When she pulls out my stale clothing and unravels my closet only then, she is satisfied.
I go back to the window with the prize of money sitting heavy in my hand.
Mother's stomps upstairs carrying me to be vigilant and nearly dead.
I shift my weight out of the window and walk a street--a new home.
Poppin' my gum as if I knew this place.
The lights once again blurry enough to mask the tears starting to burn.
I could skip and hum a tune, but I would be lying.
My legs are shaky enough to make me stutter...when I get to be that homeless.