You Cannot Control Me Or My Words

Think you can control me? Control my words? They are oozing and bubbling already, and not your direction. Control me? I laugh. I scoff. I sing. I throw my bags in a taxi. I am gone. But wait a second I tell the cabbie. I run back in. To get in the last word. I throw it onto your face. It grabs your cheeks and squeezes. My next sentence punches your gut. It hurts you. Devastates you. Just a second! I yell out the window to the cab driver. Just one more second! I throw a paragraph. She jumps into your astonished open mouth and she hurts your gums. She hurts you like you hurt me, only worse. No. That would be impossible. I hear the cabbie honking. Stick out my tongue and turn to go. Words come out of your mouth now. Stinging, mean, ugly, unkind, awful words. I run from the house and jump into the cab. I wish I could have stayed to see your face as you read my note. But the cab driver might have driven off with my bags and my notebooks are in there. All of them. I only left you one page. With a torn off side. And little pieces that fell onto the floor. I will miss the dog. Nothing else. You can have my clothes. I could not fit but one pair of panties in my suitcase anyway. The poems are all here. This is all I will ever want.