I wake up
having to go to the bathroom.
I don’t remember, exactly how much
I had to drink last night,
but it feels
like a lot.
Can I just tell you
my pores are leaking
I have to pee so bad.
Just so ya’ know,
it’s hard to run when your eyes are swimming.
But I try anyway my arms flailing in front of me.
I, the female equivalent of Forrest Gump, run
head first into the bathroom door.
I can hear
the shower running,
the sound of water, so not helping my situation.
I try to picture arid climates:
The Grande Canyon,
but that’s all I can remember from the geography class
I took four semesters ago.
Since the aforementioned visuals weren’t working
I broaden my search to all things dry:
But I digress.
I’ve been hovering by this door
a few minutes longer than necessary.
And by this point,
I’m damn near dancing a jig
in front of it.
I’m just about ten seconds away
from wetting myself
as I bang on the door,
screaming bloody blue murder,
only to have my cries lost
in the steam of the shower.