Beauty in Pumpkin Guts

Slithering worms
I’ve tried to bait,
make me turn away
stabbing them
telepathically
unable to look.

The texture of oatmeal
pressing with my tongue
to the roof
of my mouth
makes me want
to vomit,
knowing it
would look the same
in the bowl.

Sliminess is disgusting,
sludging
with a viscosity
that I can’t abide.

But somehow
the feeling
of pumpkin guts,
squeezng between
my frozen fingers,
squirting slippery seeds
to terrorize my family,

is SQUISHINGLY,

OOZINGLY,

beautiful.