I'm cold cold cold.
My parent's house is not the escape I was looking for.
I lock myself in here without the heat to prove a point.
What point, you ask?
Well, uhhhh, I don't know.

I dug out an old sweatshirt from 6th grade basketball.
It's still too big.
If  I stretch my arms out towards the lack of sky
My tiny, chubby, baby hands peek through.
They are very cold.
I wonder if our babies will have my hands or Javin's.

I could never be a communist.
The theoretical kind of communism, of course.
I am very territorial.