Borrowed lives

I've never felt at home because
I've never been at home. I've always
Gotten by, clothed in
Borrowed lives
Not quite my own.

Like a hermit crab, I stay the same
At the core and when I've grown beyond
The shell that graciously did house me,
I crawl outside and for a moment
I am free, but curious and
Lonely.

So,
I see an empty shell and take a turn
For just a while; take advantage
Of the way that those around me
Seem to find some comfort in
The vague familiarity of what I wear,
Though still they're distant.

And then, just when I realize that it's really not
My own, this life, I quietly back out
And move along. Say goodbye
To those I'd loved for real but who
Had loved the semblance of another
Wrapped around me, and pieces break
Off of my heart and soul,
But at least I've lived two dozen lives,
At least, while those I leave behind
Are stuck in one.