Flinching Happens
I have lived my entire life suppressing squeamish hurls.
My cringe that never ends startles, falters and recoils.
I would like people's internal body substances properly contained
but cannot even escape vile as piled by family and pets in upsets.
Slithering, slimy reptiles are so very, entirely ugly
their looks even hurt the feelings of their mommy's.
Televised close-ups of intrusive surgeries are so yucky
I must close my eyes to keep funky from my tummy.
Someone screaming terror, alive and sobbing in a coffin,
puts my sanity through a horrendous, endless haunting.
In public I cringe straight to furious seething when
an adult fist threatens an innocent little her or him.
Flinching happens, sometimes accompanied by a scream
and while it's not great, it at least validates my heart rate.
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