Poopy Poetry

An inspiration of mine and fellow poet once said, "Poetry is like poop. Once it's there, it has to come out."

Just let that metaphor sink in.

It's funny how true that is. Sometimes it comes easy, and just flows out of you. Sometimes it takes a little longer, and you have to come back to it again and again, in the meantime walking around with a waddle, because it sucks having to hold it in. But either way, once it's there, it always comes out.

My sister once when she was a toddler refused to poop. She held it all in for a good week. I guess that's the only way a toddler could be rebellious and get attention at the same time. So my sister wouldn't poop, and my mom took her to Urgent Care, to see if they could force it out of her.

This last summer I felt like my sister. Except I couldn't write. It was painful and if I could have gone to writer's block rehab I would have:

me: Hi, my name's Katherine.

circle of anonymous poets: *monotone* Hi, Katherine.

me: It has been 6 weeks since my last poem.

But instead, I had to self-prescribe Sarah Kay, Rudy Francisco, and Jack Frost to see if they could be my much needed laxative and get something in me moving. Not a lot did. I wrote two poems all summer. But one of those poems ended up being one of my favorites. It's short and sweet, and always gives a good chuckle.

Enjoy :) this is "A Poetic Piece of Crap":

~Kat