Homecoming

Home is no longer a feeling
it is my bed
and people who tell me they love me
without me forming a sentence that
bears to question them for it
my name isn’t whispered
it’s the theme of parties
who knew that their hugs
would be homecoming

I am less excited for praise
than I am for the rest that comes
thereafter
sleeping with an empty conscience
makes for less headaches

 

__ar.

(Addictions poem. from the perspective of the recovered addict)

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