Open

Someone recently told me I'm open and honest.

True. . .

eventually.

When hit in the stomach, the bruise purples deep,
takes a day to catch and
pull me
beneath the surface.

Until I'm able to touch
the low,
the empty
the stinging eyes.

Before the anger, I chew -
own -
the finger pointed my direction.

Digest that I'm perhaps a low-down.
Doesn't make me feel any better, though,
'til after the explosion -

  the "who-the-hells" and what-the-hells,"
                          the
  "they-betters and better-nots"

Then able to look up again and see. ..
     Me.
Trying my darned-est.
and more than deserving of all the thumbs up I can get.