If relationships were shits, I’ve had some pretty rough rests upon that pearly porcelain yet most probably plastic throne. 

If relationships were shits you my friend would have been a right rocky road. Unsure if it’s in or out .. so you kinda cut it off half way even tho it’s not fully been exumed but you wipe.. stand up.. wash ya hands n walk away.. only to return an hour later with a sore arse and insane constipation. 

Some spraying splatters, picked up by unknown meats the night before, hidden in the depths of conversation alcohol regrets and kebab

They wash away pretty easy and you’ve soon forgotten, but not before wiping your brow in sweaty embarrassment.

Some like droppings. Slow steady consistent, never a pain, always turn up on time and reliably reassure you that nothings too amiss.. except you kinda miss the squeeze, the crinkley nosed exertion that comes from those exciting big beastly rascals that you know you shouldn’t like but can’t help rolling ur eyes slightly in appreciation… a dark territory that one.. satisfying sure, but would probably do some damage if you stuck around. They’re most likely also a bike courier with a shaved head. 

The ghostly whopper that came and went. (Classic) 

Runny poos… keep you up all night with a sore tummy, anxiety seems kinda funny, and while you’re there scrunched up in bed they’re running round town with some other hunni, but sweetness u just gotta cut out the dairy for this one cos we all know your IBS just ain’t suited for their mess. 

The Smelly one.. getting roughed up with a dirty slob, don’t follow me into the bog, wouldn’t recommend to ur mates, probably skates hasn’t washed for days, but for some reason you just can’t resist!

So finally, we move on to the HEALTHY POO. I wrote that in capital letters because it’s like ooooo the mysterious healthy poo. I don’t really know what this one feels like but I have a feeling that... when you know, you know… 

just gotta eat that veg right, 

self love so tight, 

and remember, 

what you put into it, you’ll get out of it.


By Iman Sultan West