Autumn caught 'em , see all them leaves must fall down ... growing old. I haven't writtin a poem in so long, literary footsteps creaking the old stairs, chasing me. Panic room - elbow room - breathing room all on the second floor of the same house, to me. " I tried to not look at that white girls' butt " " I tried to not chat where you told me not to chat " But both of those pointless passtimes have a weird allure - some sort of flat end that justifies what it means ... to stray from what is native. The only part of the flag that waves is the part farthest from the pole ... meaning the only cure for STRAYING is STAYING. I haven't been in love in soooo long , ... it's been so long , that I Almost like being in the bed better when it's just me. Room to Panic. Room for Elbows . Room to Breathe. Your broken heart beats in two places - your face is red. I'm sorry - **** ! I TOLD YOU i had to re-learn how to write poems , how to be in love. But you forced my hand ... and it landed on a keyboard. And she doesn't chat like that ... I just love talking to her. You're always in poems and in love ... why don't you understand ? Everybody Watch Your Hands ! ... the door is closing. This is not me choosing HER room in HER house but ... I know you love me and you mean well but ... Look, I can't live in a " home " that has a room to be trapped in.