Thank you for trying to help me cope.
Thank you for trying to offer me hope.

But this wound goes deeper than the soul.
It's the way the world is broken as a whole.

You'll never know the crush to a little girl's heart;
The shock and fear and disgust that starts

When she learns how men will see her,
How they'll fantasize on how to use her.

When she learns her power is minimal
And she's at the mercy of men who are criminals,

That being in this body makes her a target,
And her worth is decided in the beauty market.

Every part of her free game to criticize,
And valued only as she's seen by men's eyes.

So forgive me if I have trouble believing
That the world is better than I am perceiving.

But my life is the proof that what I'm saying is true.
Be thankful you can't understand all I've been through.

The feast began when I was eight
I remember the mildewed room
I could hear my mother down the hall
With the poisons she consumed
Laughing, oblivious

I remember the nails that grazed down my back
As i tried to concentrate on her soothing laugh
I remember trying to leave afterward
To the door, still open a crack

I didn’t dare acknowledge it
The beast cowered beneath my blanket
And hid itself from view
It’s claws that night were bloodied with my youth

The meal continued at the age of 11
Shopping at a nearby strip mall
The beasts eyes followed me through the aisles,
Hunting me, when I was still so small

Once I was cornered, it spoke to me
Loud and roaring
I recoiled back
I didn’t dare acknowledge it, I ran
and it laughed with the rest of its pack

The gourmet carried on at the age of 15
When a too familiar hand caressed my sisters leg
The only sounds that night were her screams, and then my fury
And then my beg
We had to acknowledge the beast then

The feast persisted well past maturity
And now i age day by day
I still feel their eyes
But their claws seek younger prey

I speak with a wavering tongue of abandonment
Unsure to explore the Old Story in a distant time
The dowager and the maiden forced to defend
An unexplored narrative that supersedes Her Crime
But the call is impossible to resist
Most especially a female’s debut is not of her age
Rather an unfortunate event where he exists
To inflict the indomitable damage

For in the beginning, desecration is a promise
On womanhood that prevails
Lingering from a girl’s memory crevice
There is an incomplete circle with raggedy details
So it is the phenomenon she continuously bleeds
Through the vagueness of a shapeshift letters
Her growling mind where the prophecy feeds
The neurotic critters

Bruises from the Elder Man turns into hollowed scar
The autopsy did not identify a blunt trauma
Only the stolen lullabies and constellation chart
Excreting from his mouth is a monochromatic drama
Challenging suffering with evil like a reverse lobotomy
No emotional endurance can express her distress
Over the gap between their ages as the legacy
And so shall the judge orders his arrest

The second Prince is enamored at first sight
He prays to the gods for their union fate
Until the war triggers her to fight
Her sins and rumors tainted it too late
Choice has been made to bare her skin
At first, she thought it’s empowering
Until it pulverizes her patience to thin
Being radical as her sweetest ending

The Rising Sun aligns with the beguiling lady
She howled at the future of his departure
But nothing hurts like a shadow of the first Macy
She tries to separate her identity as her adventure
So she can be chosen and different from her twin
In no connection to blood, only the lover
The world is crushed when the others win
Comparison between Macy and lady will not recover

Stability comes from the face of discipline
An offer of love has set the story into motion
But she lashes out against his morphine
Evident as her cruelty remains his devotion
Two years of an unrivaled reign
It must be finished
The anticipative break is present without pain
I spared his soul before it diminished

Tell me now, man of the universe!
Owner of all aspects and humanity
I was not born to accept your objective curse
My sisters aspire to rise and maintain equality
Except I see a dysfunction to the standard
I spit at the thought of Him by my side
Apocalyptic approach on this regard
Declaration of freedom will abide

Nonsensical apocalypse of her birth
Doomed by ***, astoundingly rebellious
It is I, a woman, who understands the earth
My nature is exquisite in spontaneous
Root of all evil, I shall not meet with forgiveness
I associate this Seed of Mankind
Let us dim its imaginary limitless
Upholding such values should be left behind

A cry from a newborn arises
Phallus is connected to the subject
The mother knew his fate on crisis
His crimes will be stamped with neglect
Finally, a girl is not caressed in regret
For it is punishment to be born like him
His paranoia, a symptom of being possessed
It is no longer a she that will end in a grim

I’m a man,
and so I can.

I can walk alone at night,
for only cowards get a fright.
I can post my real last name.
This life for me is just a game.
I can look them in the eye
(as long as I don’t start to cry).
I can curse and yell and shout.
That is what I’m all about.
Assertive is the way to be.
I'm the boss. Now can't you see?

I can dress how I would like.
I can ride a reg’lar bike.  
I can bend or squat or sit
with legs spread wide. I am the ****.
My gender, I don’t qualify.
Default is he, and so am I.  

And when I spit, I draw no looks.
My undergarments have no hooks.
My hair just sits as it was made,
Distinguished as it starts to fade.
I can slap my gut with pride.
She said me too, but that ***** lied.
My pain is real; my anger, too.
And I don't have to use the loo.

Dear daughter, won’t you try to be  
a big strong man as safe as me?

They'll call her ruin.
They'll call her shame.

They'll never call her,
by her name.

Once the deed is done.
Her world it shakes.

As all her secrets.
Are laid out bare.

There is no hiding.
This ruined girl.

They'd call her pretty.
They'd call her smart.
They'd call her art.

Till she fell in love
Then fell apart.

The man he ran.
Like most men do.

Escaping the wreckage.
Of his youth.

The ruined girl,
was left alone.

Becoming a cautionary tale.
Of women's woes.

Whispering through history.
"Be careful with whom you love."

In my journey as a father, I have come to appreciate the profound interplay between masculinity and feminism, two forces often misunderstood as opposing but which, in truth, are deeply intertwined. Raising my spirited 9-year-old daughter has made this understanding both urgent and intimate. I see the questions in her bright eyes, her quiet determination to navigate a world that does not always favor her, and I feel the weight of my role in shaping a future where she can thrive; unapologetic, unburdened, and unbound by the limits of societal expectations.

Feminism, I’ve realized, is not a challenge to masculinity but its complement, offering a lens through which our shared humanity becomes clearer. To embrace it is to deepen our collective understanding, to confront privilege without shame, and to extend empathy as a bridge between differences. As I teach my daughter about respect and equality, I encourage her to see the world not only through her own eyes but also through the eyes of others, understanding both the struggles women face and the unspoken pressures placed upon men. This dual awareness fosters a harmony where all genders can flourish.

The extraordinary women in my life have been my greatest teachers in this. Mentors who guided me with wisdom, a sister whose resilience inspires me, colleagues who challenged and elevated me, and friends whose strength and grace embody the courage it takes to reshape the world. They have shown me that liberation is not merely an abstract ideal but a lived practice; a daily act of courage, care, and connection that transforms everyone it touches.

Their stories, and my daughter’s unfolding one, have taught me that equity requires more than admiration or education. It demands action. I must unlearn the biases I inherited, redefine love as a force for transformation, and actively contribute to dismantling the interconnected systems of oppression that stifle our potential. True liberation cannot exclude anyone; it must honor every voice, embrace every struggle, and envision a world where my daughter’s humanity; and that of all women; is celebrated rather than questioned.

To create this world, I am redefining traditional gender roles within my home, encouraging my daughter to explore her passions free from the weight of convention. I aim to nurture her belief that she can forge any path, whether it aligns with societal norms or not. This empowerment is essential not only to her independence and resilience but also to her capacity to challenge stereotypes and advocate for herself and others.

As I reflect on these lessons, I see that this journey is not mine alone. It is a collective effort; a tapestry woven from love, strength, and shared purpose. Looking into my daughter’s eyes, I am reminded that the work begins with us, with the choices we make daily to foster understanding, support, and empowerment. Change begins with love and ends in freedom.

Equity is not just an aspiration but a necessity, a vision of a world where every individual is valued for who they are, where collaboration replaces competition, and where justice is not an ideal but a reality. By embracing this philosophy, I hope to nurture a future leader who will navigate life with wisdom, empathy, and strength, carrying forward the torch of transformation that will illuminate the path for generations to come.

— Sincerely, Boris

Athena turned ’round her head
like a night owl on the sly
and looked up behind her
as gold Apollo crossed the sky,

riding with his four coursers’
flying gilded manes and hooves.
Their silver flanks and quarters
thunder across the earth’s blue roof.

The rhythm of their beat
stamps a lyric all their own,
blood coursing with the heat
of the sun-disk they all towed.

The she-god of the wise
observes this cloud-streaked scene,
the man-god shining out,
casting shadows ’round Athene.

Apollo’s path is sinking low
as the winter months advance.
The frost now blurs his glow
and bare forests fall into trance.

It’s in this creeping night
that Athena finds her time.
She draws her wisdom in twilight,
no need for blinding light up high.

For she shines not with a sun.
Instead she lights her own pathway.
By her craft and wits she’ll run
her own trail she blazed today.

As a father, I have been entrusted with life’s most precious gift; a love without condition, the privilege to nurture and guide a soul as it blooms into something extraordinary. These fleeting moments are equal parts thrilling and terrifying, each one a gem, etched in the depths of memory like the most sacred of recordings. They capture growth, stumbles, triumphs, and milestones; each step shaping our daughters into resilient, independent women. Women who lift one another, unite in strength, and rebuild a world where they lead with grace and wisdom.

From the moment I first gazed upon my daughter, her eyes met mine with an unspoken question, a silent wonder. She asked a thousand things, yet I could only return the same gaze, full of awe. How astonishing she was; this new life, cradled in my arms, an extension of myself. For every question she had, a hundred more unfolded in my heart. Who will she become? What will her voice carry? How will our love manifest, as she grows?

As the years have passed, she answered each question, both in subtle, fleeting moments; laughter, tears, resilience, dance; and through our conversations, at the dinner table, on swing sets, on our long walks, and in the quiet calm of bedtime.

With each answer, new questions emerge, and so we trade curiosity, passing it back and forth like our own secret language. What kind of friend will she be? What passions will drive her? What books will she like to read? What will our bond mean to her as time moves forward?

She has never hesitated to ask the hard questions; about my failed marriage, my surgeries, my relationships, my fears. And in asking, she would often offer the answers herself. In doing so, she has shown me the depth of her growth, the person I have always wondered who she would become.

I will never cease to nurture and encourage her curiosity, nor will I ever stop embracing the questions she asks. And though I may never stop wondering; what will she do when I am no longer here? Who will be there to care for her? How will she remember me? I know this: her curiosity will lead her, as it has always led me.

Our mission is to foster their intellectual curiosity, teach them the weight of choices, and empower them to know their worth. We show them love firsthand, cultivate their growth, teach them the value of gratitude, and then; when the time comes; we set them free to soar.

–

Don’t clear every hurdle in their way,
or hover close above.
They’ll never find their own way,
if we mistake fear for love.

It’s not our place to smooth their path,
or “snowplow” and “helicopter” away each test.
But to stand beside them and watch them grow,
as they learn to do their very best.

We raise them not for ease, but good,
with hearts both kind and strong.
For in each challenge they will grow,
and learn where they belong.

Let’s guide our children, but let them lead,
and trust them as they make mistakes.
For they must pave a lane for themselves,
to be able to fix what they break.

— Sincerely, Boris

I have learned that much of the pain in our world stems from a system that teaches men to disconnect from their emotions. I am beginning to understand that this conditioning, rooted in patriarchy, compels men to equate strength with emotional suppression and dominance, while vulnerability is seen as weakness. As I reflect on this, I see how it harms not just men, but everyone around them, distorting relationships and stifling love.

I am realizing that true liberation, for both men and women, requires breaking free from these destructive patterns. It is not enough to simply reject patriarchy on an intellectual level; I must also recognize the emotional toll it takes on men, who are conditioned to shut down their feelings and distance themselves from empathy. I have come to see that without emotional openness, without the freedom to feel and express tenderness, men remain trapped, unable to experience love in its fullness.

I have learned that healing requires more than dismantling external structures; it calls for a radical rethinking of masculinity. I am now convinced that men must be encouraged to embrace emotional vulnerability, to reconnect with their capacity for love and empathy. I understand that love, in its most profound sense, is transformative, and that it thrives when we allow ourselves to be open, honest, and unafraid of intimacy.

In this process of unlearning, I am reminded that the path to healing is not solitary. I have realized the importance of creating spaces where men can safely explore their emotions, where they can reconnect with the parts of themselves they have been taught to hide. I am committed to fostering communities that prioritize emotional growth and reject the outdated notions of control and dominance that have long defined masculinity.

I have come to believe that change is not only possible but necessary. It requires me, and all of us, to embrace new ways of being that honor emotional expression and nurture the kind of love that allows us to grow. I am committed to this journey, knowing that it holds the potential to reshape our world into one where love, justice, and connection can flourish.

—

In a world where men must not reveal
the wounds that fester deep inside,
I see now, to heal, we must unseal
the softness that we’ve been denied.

The path is not for men to dominate,
but to embrace what makes us whole;
to find the grace in open hands,
and free us from our guarded souls.

In this, I trust, there is a way
where justice, love, and truth align.
Through courage, we can clear the way
and let our hearts entwine.

— Sincerely, Boris

i wasn't born hungry, i remember how it happened.
a bad man put a hole in me, one day when i was
very young
and i've been eating ever since:
i love gluttony, hate, ****, burning buildings, and you.

i'm sorry, it's not my fault. i was born hungry,
like strange flowers bloom:

both too old and too soon.