Crapping myself for civility

ever shit your pants?
i’m sure you have.
well, have you ever done such
a thing as an adult in control?
obviously, at this moment, i was not.
i graduated to underwear from diapers,
it seems to me that i needed more practice.
i was in the process of relieving myself of some gas,
when what followed, moisture.
no, it wasn’t just really warm,
it was in fact shit.
how could this happen?
did my body trick me?
i think i got careless.
on a positive note,
it reaffirms my belief that
i am an animal.
if it weren’t for this restrictive clothes,
i could be free to be me.
of course, that’s not civilized.
but war, torture and hate,
those don’t scream civility.
at least i know i can clean myself up.
other people, well, it’s up to themselves.

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Backed up to my ears

i enjoy taking shits.
yes, it’s a vulgar,
but it relieves my body of
what is unnecessary.
much like the external waste
my perception takes in.
as much as i think i’m in control,
the amount of subversion
overwhelms me.
be that as it may,
my soul is so backed up,
i need a virtual life to
relieve myself.
still, i feel stuck.

Creating a movement of naturalism

I’m not entirely sure what it means to be creative.
is it to make something?
surely that cannot be the only defining feature.
I poop, does that mean I’m creative?
or does what I create have to have some sort of stylistic flare?
maybe I produced an artful poo?
Could it be that my toilet mount was flawless.
I was able to disengage my belt and zipper in one felt swoop,
that left the toilet’s mouth agape in awe?
Ready to receive one of my most natural possessions.
If to make was the meaning to create,
then I’m guilty of daily creation.