i miss home.

Here (which isn't that far away)
people laugh at all the wrong things,
and i am foolish,
and i lose that sparkle that you saw in me,
and i make more mistakes than i can count (or at least they say so)
here,
i do not belong—
among blood veins and past friends,
i am a stupid stranger,
a smothered, struggling failure,
swimming in defeat
Here (in a place that should be called my other home)
i am nothing—
and not in that woe-is-me sort of way,
but i am less than invisible,
i am the paragon of idiocy,
a stumbling, bumbling mess,
when with you,
i soared gracefully under the stars.
with you,
i embraced 'neon nights' and looked forward to the night's warm smiles,
now—
night is that horrible time, when we all sit around the table
and laugh at people that i love,
and mock the weary,
and judgejudgejudgejudgejudge.
But you love! (me?)
You do, I know you do—
but only when they live up to par.
I hate ones like this,
the ones that make me cringe and feel gutless.
I wish I was with you,
where I float and feel full—
not trapped here,
in this loud vacancy
i should call my other home.