My parents divorced when I was very young. Since then, they had shared custody where my sisters and I would go from Mom's house to Dad's house a week at a time. It definitely caused conflict and drama, so I wrote a poem about it in high school.

She sits there on her bed,
waiting for that duration of time
while she hears the laughs downstairs
from her family, in a melodic chime.

As she sits, she wonders
how she is even here.
She wonders how it’s possible
that she sees everyone near.

She has heard of other children like her
who can see their family rarely.
Some see them on weekends, or monthly
while she sees her’s every week fairly.

Everyone says, “You are so blessed.”
Others say, “That’s pretty cool.”
However, she finds it bemusing
and sometimes cruel.

Leaving things behind,
having a new life,
it makes her feel different
and like a two-faced person in her mind.

Which one did she love most?
Was she required to choose?
Both houses seemed the same,
but many differences make each lose.

She seems the same on the inside,
so why is it that she can feel
that there is another being
inside her, turning the wheel?

She still has the same dreams.
She goes to school, feeling the force
to wear a mask to please the ones
that love her, of course.

She stares down at her hands
that touched both ties.
It seemed she was the messenger
of these worries, and lies.

Every day she tells herself
that it is only a matter of years
until she is free of this box
entrapping her in a jeer.

One day, this repeating pattern
will be over and done.
Then, she is free and herself
will only worry about one.