Shit. And Other Hard Feelings

Not for the squeamish or squirming of conscience.
Messy emotions are scooped out from one's
bowels and examined like pumpkin pulp
for the extraction of meaningful seeds.

"Who me" he cried with owl like innocence.
"Who me" I echoed.  I apologized
to my abuser, and felt like a loser.
I cried out to no one. Kept it all inside.
On account of that I myself despised.
He tried to trip me, and I felt guilty.

Saddens me that I can no longer believe
the man I adored because I can see
his shaky hand, and what is up his sleeve.