Another you appears in me, yet cannot leave, nor truly be.

I'm worn in pairs but have no feet, I serve you well on court or street. Though I have a tongue, I cannot speak.

I have a button but I am not a shirt. I live by the door but I never go inside. Visitors push me to announce they have arrived.

I report great triumphs and dramatic woes, then get folded into props for schoolhouse shows.

I hang around, yet I’m no thief, I sit on shoulders, chairs, or floors. I hold your keys, your cash, your grief, Before you step through out-bound doors.