another poem

PIMP THE GUILT

The smallest thing, a trigger,
a rooster.  Casual words
look like pointed fingers,
wagging in accusation,
and me, unable to process
advice for what it is,
feeling shame rip my heart
the way you’d tear a valentine.

(One time my friend Micah decided that we should each write a poem with the same name of his choosing– he chose “Pimp the Guilt”– I can’t remember why anymore!)

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