My Poopy Had A First Name Poem by Giancarlo Filisola Blanco

I sit on the bowl
in contemplation
in hopes of relieving
this constipation

I sit and stare
I do not shout
for the poop will come
there is no doubt

Emotions tense
my legs start shaking
elusive poops
are in the making

I squeeze and squeeze
but with no luck
this mighty poop
it is quite stuck

Tears begin flowing
in my defence
this poop indeed
must be immense

I take my stance
I hold on tight
this enormous poop
I wish not fight

Seconds becomes minutes
minutes into hours
I long the sight
Of brown fibre towers

A final push
in hopes to free
this putrid evil
inside of me

I feel a tingle
I spread with class
this mighty poop
it was just gas.