I am not at home

I feel like a stranger in my own home.
I am like a ghost wandering the halls.
No, not even that.
I am but the faint memory of a ghost that remains here.
My home is not here.
My home died years ago when a girl left and a boy took her place.
My home broke into pieces when that boy wanted to be with another boy.
MY HOME ABANDONED WHAT MADE IT A HOME.
Choosing religion over love.
The lord over their own children,
A being who doesn't have to live with this hatred over the child sitting across from them at the dinner table.
The child who has learned that this is only a house to them now.
That they have no voice.
That god will never love them in this home so this isn't their home.
THEY ARE MERELY A GUEST AMONGST THEIR OWN FAMILY.
I have a house,
I don't have a home.
A broken family,
And in my hand, the bottle with my hundreds of tickets out of here.