Becoming Pt. 2

4:22 PM

and so begins the journey

of a lifelong paranoia

of wet feeling dry pants

of red stains on white seats

on filled buses and workspaces.

Begins the school of learning

Teacher and student as one

of learning the right angles

to sleep to prevent

sometimes unavoidable stains

on the bedsheet.

Waking up to an eye-roll of the

futility of human condition

and brews passing annoyance

for brothers who claim life is tough

for a man but had a restful night

sleep without thought of

blood leaking out a faucet

and needing to change or at least

check up on the bowl every certain

hours, lingering at the back of your mind

at all hours of the night.

Imagine a charley horse, of your balls

inside your body in the shape of a uterus

sitting at work, minding your business

out of nowhere

a pulling, twisting, cramping

Unpleasant and somewhat painful sensation

starts in one of the most sensitive areas of your body.

And you have to sit or stand there,

and smile, acting like nothing is

happening

and you don’t want to curl up in 

a ball

and surrender your soul to

whatever being

in its infinite wisdom and 

mechanical engineering genius

created my vagina and uterus

anticipated my pain

then smiled and said

“It is good.”

I sometimes think god is a definitely a man

or a freaking b… bliss to be around.