Man, be YOU.
That’s enough.
All the ******* about being tough
Manning up
It’s a bluff because the myth of the “real man”
Doesn’t measure up.
He’s a puppet.
Poison in his veins. He’s a slave to his role in the game.

Let’s face the truth.
The dross that’s aimed at youth, toughen up! The boy needs a hand that’s rough. That’s. girl.  stuff.
What do we get if we can’t let him BE?
Toxic Masculinity.
That’s enough!
Man, be YOU.

Beauty;

Beauty brought me nothing.
But pain,
But false hope,
But abuse,
But fake love,
But striving for perfection,
But never reaching it,
But betrayal,
But hatred,
But mistrust,
But anger,
But deception,
But attention,
But not the sort I wanted.

Beauty,
created through society,
brought me nothing.
So I created my own Beauty.

A boho hemmed into a perfect circle
Misunderstood and invisible
Where everyone goes right, he prefers left
The is told he is bereft

They force him to fit in
But how can he?
He is like oil in water, a hippie in suit quarters
His free spirit just won's blend in

They hammered and bent him to belong
But turns out he has been a misfit all along
For his spirit demands to be vivid and vibrant
In a rather monochrome circle, it is a tyrant

His heavy heart needs to let it all out
His thoughts, his dreams and all his doubts
His is a white noise, he seems very far out
Everyone is deaf to this boho's screams and shouts

"You can join our group," he says,
"But only if you look everyone in the eyes."
I freeze.
Surely he is aware by now that the words
Autism Spectrum Disorder
In my chart were not placed there for fun?
Surely he is aware by now that finger twitching, body rocking,
     gaze avoiding
Are not for my frivolous pleasure?
Surely he is aware by now the absurdity of what he asks?
I am autistic.
Burning irritation of the eyes and panic aside,
Staring creepily into another human's eyeballs
Would render group a waste of time, no possibility to listen.
He knows this.
It is his prejudice that keeps him rooted to the spot.
I can feel the weight of his expectations boring into my forehead.
Explaining what it is to ask this of me,
I remind him that drawing this line would be excluding me because
Of my autism.
I tell him he would be losing a valuable participant,
A deep thinker, a creator, an avid listener.
I tell him he would be discriminating,
That I am protected by law.
Oh, no.
He budges not,
For he does not dislike autistic humans
So long as they act like they are Neurotypical,
So long as I pretend to be
Someone I am not.

They say be skinny but not too skinny. They say be girly and lady like, for that is pretty.
They say be curvy but only in the right places.
They say always have a smile on your faces.
Who made such rules?
Who were these people so cruel?
Why can't I just be me?
Slowly in my head the truth starts to creep.
They too were never accepted for who they were.
They too were shamed for every freckle, every curve.
It is not their fault entirely, now I see.
They just don't want us to face the hate they had to feel.
In the process of getting the world to like us though, we started hating our own bodies.
Taught to be somebody's instead of somebodies.
Is it alright that they won't let us be ourselves?
Shouldn't they know better since they've been through it themselves?
The world before them changed them, got into their head.
But we must not give in, or the real us will be dead.