I need this space like fucking air,
My carpet stained with a gravy splodge
From a roasted chicken dinner with a friend,
And that blackened circle on the counter top;
That place where I burnt the plastic with a pan.
The front door that doesn’t work all that well,
It opens if I ram my shoulder up against it when
I’m coming in, laden with two shopping bags,
(I can only buy two bags worth at a time because
There’s only space for that, in my tiny cupboard,
Fridge and freezer), so just forget a weekly shop.
But this shitty little place, it’s mine;
And coming back from days away, is kinda like resurfacing,
Taking one deep breath, luxuriously.
I need this space to live, to walk the world,
Knowing that I have this little slice of worlds
Carved up by men much richer than I’ll ever be.
But I own this, and for this I am glad.
I’m back from holiday and I feel like I’ve just sunk into the softest bed. This place I call home, is my safe space and it’s only when you are away for a little while that you realise just how much you need that space.
As you may know, my parents are divorcing at the moment and my dad phoned to ask if I want to club together and buy a place with him and his part of the divorce settlement. My heart sank. I don’t want to hurt him but I also want to keep this little slice of the world that is my own.
I’ve worked so hard over the past four years to get sober, stand on my own two feet and get a job that I’m really proud of, and moving back in with my dad will take so much of that away from me. I wish I was tougher and could just tell him that I want to stay in my own little space. This really sucks, but it’s made me realise just how much I need this place.