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CalGravesPoems
“Be a man.” Not just a voice— a chorus. Television scripts, locker room laughs, teachers with sharp smiles, uncles at funerals. The world said it over and over until it echoed in my chest louder than my heartbeat. Toughen up. Men don’t cry. Grow a spine. Don’t be weak. They called it growing up. I called it disappearing. So I swallowed softness, one emotion at a time— compassion, fear, grief, joy. Tied them in a knot and buried them behind my ribs where no one could see. Pain was a private ritual. Shame, a second skin. I learned to laugh when it hurt. To bleed in silence. To treat vulnerability like a sickness I couldn’t afford to show. They told me I was strong. And I am— but at what cost? There are days I touch my own reflection and feel nothing. There are nights when I want to scream, but all that comes out is a breath too tired to be heard. This is what boys are made of: wires where nerves should be, mirrors that never show weakness, and fists clenched so long we forgot how to hold anything gently. I survived. I adapted. I became the man they wanted. But sometimes, when it’s quiet, I ask myself— what did I lose to become him?
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May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 8:44 AM UTC
What Boys Are Made Of
“Be a man.” Not just a voice— a chorus. Television scripts, locker room laughs, teachers with sharp smiles, uncles at funerals. The world said it over and over until it echoed in my chest louder than my heartbeat. Toughen up. Men don’t cry. Grow a spine. Don’t be weak. They called it growing up. I called it disappearing. So I swallowed softness, one emotion at a time— compassion, fear, grief, joy. Tied them in a knot and buried them behind my ribs where no one could see. Pain was a private ritual. Shame, a second skin. I learned to laugh when it hurt. To bleed in silence. To treat vulnerability like a sickness I couldn’t afford to show. They told me I was strong. And I am— but at what cost? There are days I touch my own reflection and feel nothing. There are nights when I want to scream, but all that comes out is a breath too tired to be heard. This is what boys are made of: wires where nerves should be, mirrors that never show weakness, and fists clenched so long we forgot how to hold anything gently. I survived. I adapted. I became the man they wanted. But sometimes, when it’s quiet, I ask myself— what did I lose to become him?
#life
CalGraves
Written by
CalGraves
32/M/USA
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 8:44 AM UTC
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