Perfect

My life is perfect.

At least, according to the small-town girl from New York

Whose never made it farther than Boston

Whose idea of vacation is a trip to the Jersey Shore

Whose world view consists of what she's seen on the television

In between episodes of Friends and Survivor

I tell myself

“It’s not her fault”

“She doesn’t know”

Nobody does, except the two boys in the next bedroom over

And thousands of our brothers and sisters all over the globe

They may love being a military child

But not really a military “brat”

Because the word “brat” sounds a little too “perfect”

Don't you think?

But what’s perfect about the other 1st graders asking me “Does your daddy hurt people?”

And me not being able to answer because I don’t know,

And I don’t wanna know

What’s perfect about missing that one doorway with the little pencil marks all up the side

Because I need three hands to count the number of houses I’ve called my own

What’s perfect about empty words like “let’s keep in touch” and “I’ll always remember you!”

Hundreds of Facebook friends who are little more than jumbled memories

What’s perfect about schools filled with judging faces in the hallway

Who can never understand why I wasn’t there yesterday

And why I won’t be there tomorrow

What’s perfect about the countless names, addresses, and phone numbers swirling around in my head

Until I can't tell them apart

Until they don't feel meaningful anymore

Until I stop trying to remember in the first place

But now it’s time to hide it all away again

To stuff it back into the box on the moving truck

Photographs of people who won't remember me for long

Just like I will soon forget about them

Pushing away every memory of who I used to be

Waiting for another stop to spill into my next life

Even though

Apparently

My life is perfect