Poem: Like Me

Going back home does not feel good.
The people there are my neighbors.
Never been good at being part of a group,
only a week now,
sick of them.
Latent waves of loathing emanate from them,
avoiding my eyes,
begging cigarrettes from me with snarls.

"He's not one of us"

Sinner said
and they chuckled sarcastically.
But they felt the truth in what he said.
We all did.
Probably imagining it all.
The only one who's clean,
shaved,
decently dressed,
young.
Not a methamphetamine addict,
is what he meant.
No, not one of them at all.
But living here all the same.
With all their tweaking, loathing,
and occasional blessings.

Even amoungst the damned,
I stick out
like a sore
penis.

Where is the place,
for a _______ like me?