another poem


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!)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s