“It’s a chance to start over,”
They always told me.
Where is my three-leafed clover?
Luck is my only plea.

Luck eludes me, as always,
And yet again—I prepare for moving.
Hunching over my bag in the new hallways,
I just hope these new kids are approving.

Only a year, or two, has passed
And alas, I am comfortable, no longer the new girl,
But this is not a situation that lasts.
Yet again, comes the moving, the new friends, and the hurl.

The butterflies in my stomach
Have made themselves a home there.
From city to city, state to state, country to country,
I’m forever the new girl.