At first, they did not ask,

Because they thought

I could not speak.

I had birthday parties

Just like you, but

Something was missing.

I continued to chant

That I was not an orphan,

But it was no use.

Again, they did not ask,

Because they felt guilty

And it was too late.

I kept switching trains.

I felt half-blind,

Sometimes half-deaf.

I learned to smile

And I learned other things

That maybe I should not have.

At last, they did not ask

When I was packing my bags

And running away.

I woke up in the places

I never sought to be,

Only to do it again.

I looked hard and

I found many homes,

But they were all fake.

When I read Sophocles,

I knew it made sense

That they did not ask.