I used to write essays, stories, the words flowing out onto the page
but you–
you have messed me up
you have taken me down and now
I am liquid
my words fall out without structure
willy nilly

I am trailing word droppings at work
I am leaving words in the cart at the grocery
I am sorry for the puddle of words that fell out on to the broccoli
I am sure you didn’t expect to be picking consonants out of your casserole.

Even the librarian, who I thought would have been used to words, words, words everywhere
sighed as they fell out of my hair and came out of my pockets in the stacks.
Maybe because they’re not good words
I am a bad poet, a bad writer
(see, here is proof)

but you did this to me
you opened this fountain
that won’t stop flowing
like tears