My husband is
a handsome man.
A loyal man.
A strong man.
And I mean strong.
He don’t need to throw fists
or measure ***** with the next *****
a sequoia in a thatch of
black walnut trees.
He doesn’t need toxicity to prove his strength, existing as
both a tank and a bouquet
of flowers—
I’ve never known a closer friend
to the birds, raccoons,
and men
Again, he’s a strong man.
What else is he supposed to be
when he’s fitted with an ain’t ****
father,
and a *** *** dad.
I can’t help but to
marvel at him and his
love, laid out like foundation,
set and sturdy,
when he was worthy of
so much more than you.
Your son is a strong man.
What else was he supposed to be
finding himself small, waking in the world
a beautiful, baby boy
Round faced,
smiling,
daydreaming about what it is to be a man.
His Doe ish eyes watching
your biceps flex, their innocence
skipping jovially over the bottle
clenched tight in your fist.
The same bottle you would
raise to your lips
without coming up for air
over and over
and over
again for 30 weak years.
He didn’t know how magic tricks worked yet!
He didn’t, he didn’t know your biceps are veneers
hiding everything pickled and bad inside—
No, he just said
“Your muscles are big ,dad!
I wanna be just like you.”
Apr 15
Apr 15, 2026 at 8:20 AM UTC
My husband is
a handsome man.
A loyal man.
A strong man.
And I mean strong.
He don’t need to throw fists
or measure ***** with the next *****
a sequoia in a thatch of
black walnut trees.
He doesn’t need toxicity to prove his strength, existing as
both a tank and a bouquet
of flowers—
I’ve never known a closer friend
to the birds, raccoons,
and men
Again, he’s a strong man.
What else is he supposed to be
when he’s fitted with an ain’t ****
father,
and a *** *** dad.
I can’t help but to
marvel at him and his
love, laid out like foundation,
set and sturdy,
when he was worthy of
so much more than you.
Your son is a strong man.
What else was he supposed to be
finding himself small, waking in the world
a beautiful, baby boy
Round faced,
smiling,
daydreaming about what it is to be a man.
His Doe ish eyes watching
your biceps flex, their innocence
skipping jovially over the bottle
clenched tight in your fist.
The same bottle you would
raise to your lips
without coming up for air
over and over
and over
again for 30 weak years.
He didn’t know how magic tricks worked yet!
He didn’t, he didn’t know your biceps are veneers
hiding everything pickled and bad inside—
No, he just said
“Your muscles are big ,dad!
I wanna be just like you.”
Here’s to healing generational trauma.
