What Is Home

Ain’t it sad,
When you can’t remember the last hug you’ve had?
I mean,
Not really.
I can sit here,
Be mad,
And keep reeling wretched memories over and over again.
Or,
Come up with another bar,
Further entrapping emotions trying to keep me from being sober in this,
Labyrinth with walls made of glass.
See-through walls in the mind of my inner child,
While I search for His hand.
To grab,
And,
Pull myself out of a home where I was deemed worthless…

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