I’m not clear how it is that I ended up here.

Sometimes I feel like a Roma. I’m not sure where home is for me.

Home is where I’m supposed to be safe in every context of the word.

Home is where I’m supposed to be accepted for who I am now and who I want to be in the future.

Home is where my creativity is supposed to be nurtured and encouraged.

Home is not inside this little shitty shop feeling a little awkward watching this mentally unstable guy walk past 5 times since 9 this morning, knocking into my window, waving at me.