An extra wait to pee

It was once the measure of engagement:
how focused am I? How long will I wait?
Now it's discomfort's indication,
a conversational waiting game;
am I anxious?
Do feelings identify themselves
as malicious actors
playing a theatrical stolen character?
I will go.
I must go.
I can't go.
It's not as easy as a fear;
discomfort is the slow frog boil
that awful metaphor for the weak,
like me.
I will unravel
before I unsit
and stand before my porcelain savior
to let go that which I grit.

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