We were running for the bus

and I was holding my hat in place

as my jacket flew open and flapped in the

frigid wind. You turned around and said

to me that you thought I had left you

because of all the profanities that

exited my mouth, that lived in the

heat of my breath in the air

The words that found their way up

the spout and down the hatch of the

the back of your throat,

that are now residing in the mere

pit of your stomach with the

rest of the mucus and true

feelings you feel about me.

What would happen if I punched

everything you really thought of me

out of your stomach?

Would you have any guts left to puke on me?

Or would you just push me down and get on the bus?

Whatever the choice may be; I have more puke with hurtful words

gurgling and churning inside my stomach right now than you'll ever know.

You're gonna have to catch me to find out!

Don't make fun of the way I run..