Maturity: A Poem About Pee

Image

I didn’t have friends until I was older

due, in part, to a particular odor

that’s been known to be indicative 

of “accidents.” But then the year 

when I turned twelve, I resolved to 

stop pissing myself and I learned 

that if I squirmed and squeezed

I could hold in pee.

 

And so I halted that blissful piss

and rid my legs of stickiness

and all that followed now is:

 

Me. 

 

Pee-free.

 

But don’t drown in the imagery.

Take the pee metaphorically.

For beyond the sophomoric buffoonery 

there is purpose

and it doesn’t stink. 

 

When I was twelve I stopped pissing myself

but along with suppressing the pee

I learned to squirm and squeeze and hold in Me.

And I’ve been shitting myself ever since.

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6 thoughts on “Maturity: A Poem About Pee

      1. But then there is always the matter of idealism and realism, and I feel on a subliminal step, the clash of stoicism and epicureanism, and not at all, it was my pleasure (pun intended). 🙂

  1. I really like the whole idea of your blog! I kill my fair share of darlings on my own. I was drowning in old notes and poems and excerpts, but since I started blogging I can sentence them to the undead life of cyberspace.

    1. Haha thanks! I’m a creative writing major, so I spend a lot of time in writing workshops being told what to kill. A lot of the things I write never see the light of paper. Cyberspace is their new home 🙂 Thanks for reading!

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