I sit on an aging sofa,
Facing an old-fashioned clock on the wall,
It's finally 3:00,
My therapist sits on a leather chair,
Looks down at her notes,
As if her scribbles had any relevance to my problems,
"Well, how's home?"
I answer the same questions,
"You have plans for the holidays, right?"
I try to be funny,
That's all I can do.
I've been bouncing from home to home,
My parents and their respective partners hate me,
"I got a teaching job,"
I don't know if I signed the contract because I love children,
Or because I needed to get a place of my own,
My last meal was a day ago, 10am to be exact,
Is this a trick question?