TL,DR
We’ve all got shit.
Some hide it, some leak it, some pretend it smells like sage.
The point isn’t finding someone “clean.”
The point is finding the one who says:
“Here’s mine. Show me yours. I won’t run.”
Because love isn’t about avoiding the mess.
It’s about rolling up your sleeves, and wiping anyway.
Everyone walks around with a pile of shit strapped to their back.
Some drag it in a suitcase.
Some carry it in their Gucci tote.
Some pretend it’s fertilizer for their healing journey.
But it’s shit all the same.
Old wounds.
Childhood trauma.
Trust issues.
Betrayal.
Grief.
Insecurity.
Addiction.
Rage.
Ego.
Some people keep theirs sealed tight, triple-bagged and zipped shut. 🚩
Others? It’s seeping through your Emotional Pampers,
smearing across everyone you touch in your life like a Jackson Pollock of red flags.
It’s still shit.
And yet, the moment we catch a whiff of someone else’s stink?
We point.
We judge.
What’s worse?
We pretend our own doesn't smell to feel better.
We point at others:
“Wow, she’s got trust issues.”
“He’s got abandonment wounds.”
“They’re emotionally unavailable.”
“Ugh. Red flag. Emotional baggage. Toxic.”
"They need...XYZ"
So what do we all do?
We hide it.
We Febreze it.
We smile like everything smells like sage and eucalyptus oil.
Then we swipe right, hoping someone will fall in love with our sanitized self.
Next? We go out looking for love.
Wearing our Sunday best suit.
Volunteering to give out the Eucharist.
Acting like our “self-awareness” makes us clean.
Saying things like, “I’m over my ex,” or “I’ve done the work.”
Spoiler:
Your therapist can help you understand the plumbing, but you still have to wipe your own ass.
How to wipe my own ass?
First, acknowledge there's shit.
Is there something you'd never want anyone to know?
That means:
- Know your triggers.
- Know what happens when you're scared.
- Know when you're projecting your old pain onto a new person.
Example:
You were abandoned.
Left without warning—by a parent, a partner, a “friend.”
Now, when your current lover takes a few hours to respond,
your brain starts preparing a funeral.
You spiral.
You panic-text.
You accuse them of emotional distance.
This isn’t love.
This is unprocessed shit, leaking.
Gill’s poem says:
“Don’t hide that from me. Bring it.
Let me see your darkness before it explodes in my kitchen.”
How Recognize your madness—and name it?
“I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me.”
Translation:
You don’t get to love me and expect me to be easy.
You want the poetry?
Then you get the panic attacks.
You want the strength?
Then you hold the trauma that built it.
Example: Betrayal
You trusted someone once.
They looked you in the eye, said you were safe—and then shattered it.
Maybe they cheated.
Maybe they lied.
Maybe they just slowly stopped showing up.
Now?
You assume every lover is two moves from deception.
You don’t trust kind words.
You read between the lines until there’s nothing left but suspicion.
Your madness whispers:
“Don’t fall asleep. They’ll hurt you.”
You survive through hypervigilance.
And now you expect someone else to pass a test you haven’t even told them exists.
That’s your shit.
Your madness.
Your demon.
Gill’s point?
Don’t hand someone the curated version of yourself.
Hand them the whole mess.
If they flinch, let them walk.
You don’t need someone who loves the mask.
The Sniff Test (How to Spot Hidden Shit)
Because some people hide their shit so well you won’t smell it for six months.
Here’s how to sniff it early:
✅ 1. Ask about their past — and see if they flinch.
If they can’t answer? 🚩 The shit’s buried under the deck.
✅ 2. Watch small failures.
Wrong food order. Missed train.
If they go cold or turn it into a TED talk about “staying positive”… 🚩 suppressed shit.
✅ 3. Disagree.
If they smile through gritted teeth and say, “No worries”… 🚩 bottled shit.
✅ 4. Listen when they talk about exes.
“She was crazy.” 🚩 They don’t own their shit.
✅ 5. Beware the “perfectly clean” persona.
No cracks. No rough edges. All eucalyptus and “low drama.” 🚩 Cover-up.
✅ 6. Bonus: Offer one of YOUR red flags.
If they freeze? 🚩 Ankles grabbed by under-the-bed demons.
💩 The Four Types of Men (And One Who Got It Right)
There are only four types of men in the world.
Everything else is just a remix.
🚩 1. King Shit (Shit Fearing)
What does he look like?
He’s confident.
Charming.
Wears his crown proudly,
the self-proclaimed “king.”
How does he handle his shit?
He doesn’t.
He tucks it away in the overhead bin,
locks the suitcase,
and throws away the key.
When you ask about his past?
He smirks.
“It’s complicated.”
When you open up about your own mess?
He listens oh,
He loves to listen,
then subtly positions himself as your fixer,
your guide,
your superior.
But he never once cracks open his own case.
Because the king’s image can’t stink.
Furthest from true Kinghood.
🟨 2. Knight Shit (Shit Acknowledging)
What does he look like?
Armor a little dented, shield a little scratched.
How does he handle his shit?
He brings it to you, trembling hands, saying:
“Here it is. My mess. My shame. My shadow. Please don’t run.”
He is vulnerable to the point of awkwardness.
He’s not hiding. He’s hoping —
hoping you won’t see him as dirty,
hoping you’ll stay long enough to believe he can learn to wipe his own ass.
Knights don’t need rescuing.
They need believing.
✅ 3. Fool Shit (Good Shit/Shit Accepting)
What does he look like?
He’s the guy at the party cracking jokes about his own flaws.
He’s self-aware, a little disarming, and probably apologizing for something minor.
How does he handle his shit?
He’s in the process.
He wipes his own ass — maybe misses a spot — but he’s learning.
He asks about your shit, too, not to weaponize it, but to swap notes.
The Fool Shit man isn’t perfect.
But he’s safe.
Because he knows when he stinks — and he’ll warn you before you sit down.
🚩🚩4. Scared Shitless (2 Red Flags)
What does he look like?
Not because it’s inappropriate.
But because it’s dangerous — for him.
His shit strategy:
He doesn’t hide his shit like King Shit.
He doesn’t offer it like Knight Shit.
He doesn’t joke about it like Fool Shit.
He just… avoids it.
Tiptoes around it.
Throws a “That’s private,”
or a “Let’s not ruin the mood,”
Like throwing a blanket over a pile of dog crap in the living room or a family gathering.
When that doesn't work, "You need a Jesus and bible"
He plays golf for a living.
When he's not golfing, he's fishing.
No darkness?
No cracks?
No rough edges?
That’s not emotional cleanliness.
That’s a mask so tight it can’t breathe.
He coined the term "Scared Shitless."
👑 5. King Of King's Shit
And then… there is a fifth man.
He carried ten suitcases’ worth of shit,
all the wounds,
all the betrayal,
all the pain of humanity,
and packed it down tight,
the weight of it crushed into the size of a mustard seed clenched between his cheeks.
Like Thad Castle's Oreo from Blue Mountain State.
But he didn’t just wipe his own ass.
He went out looking for asses to cleanse.
When he saw people with it leaking down past their ankles, he didn’t flinch.
He cleaned their feet.
He wiped asses.
Forgave sins.
Held space for those drowning in their own stench.
He didn’t run from shit.
He didn’t judge shit.
He transmuted shit.
He was an alchemist.
He turned every ounce of their shit into love.
God said his ass was so clean,
That when he pulled down his pants,
Rainbows and butterfly's literally came out of his ass.
And the sealed tight, triple-bagged and zipped shut Shit Bags?
Hated him for it.
Scared Shitless.
So much so,
That they preferred murders over him.
So they crucified him.
Why?
It made them feel cleaner.
Oh, his name? Jesus.
But if you ever meet a man who smells the stink,
rolls up his sleeves,
and cleans anyway,
not to control,
not to dominate,
not to save face,
But simply to love?
You might have met a whisper of the One True King.
- The world cannot categorize him.
- Kings fear him. Knights kneel to him. Fools adore him.
- Women? They become feral in his presence.
- First animalistic in lust, then awakened in love.
There will be signs.
You’ll see the glorious splendor of love in his kingdom.
Hearts will soften.
Enemies will drop their swords.
The signs will not be subtle.
They will grow.
Voluptuous.
Unignorable.
Because when the a True King walks into the room,
Love itself expands.
What's Your Point?
We’ve all got shit.
Some hide it, some leak it, some pretend it smells like sage.
The point isn’t finding someone “clean.”
The point is finding the one who says:
“Here’s mine. Show me yours.
I won’t run.”
Because love isn’t about avoiding the mess.
It’s about rolling up your sleeves,
and wiping anyway.