The clanking of glass on glass and the subtly raucous whispers creep in and out of my consciousness.
I’m here. I’m trying to be, anyway.
Nothing about this is abnormal for myself.
This should feel like routine.
Like home.
Because in all actuality, it has been.
This is where I’ve hung my head.
This is where a thousand horrid thoughts have come to die.
For a few hours at a time, at least.
But I don’t feel welcome anymore.
I don’t feel like I have a place here.
And I think I’m finally certain that I don’t want one.
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gutterphenomenon 
Very powerful piece and it really connects with me because I wrote a piece like it a couple of years ago after my parents got a divorce. Home can be a funny thing, it doesn’t have to be where your family is, it’s where ever you feel safe to be yourself.
Great piece 🙂
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