They ask me
what I can say
in three words

But that's nothing
compared to what I can say
in one word

They grab at me
and yell my name
at the top of their lungs

But they touch no part of me—
not my bleeding intestines,
not my scratched lungs,
not my still heart

They propel me
or so they claim
but I'm still on the ground
and the thing they hold up there
is barely even a person

They think they have me
but I am free