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Lou Feb 3
                          I was
                             to do
                       ­        only

One month in

I sent January flowers on the third day
without even telling him.
He needed it after that last week.

White roses.
To creep out the dead
and question the living stuck inches deep under water.

Thursdays were mine.
Everyone of them,

I fried colons in grease and became an adult
when I was thrilled to be greeted by the polished grill
adjacent to its elder and a former twin.

I became closer to gambling and God.
Or Mammon?
I am all of theirs at this time
and boy,
does it literally say I am not to love both.
Or all.

Also; January you child.

I know you were angry when you had to leave.
Three days cooped wasn't going to pluck a Buffalo.
All of those times you got away with building walls for fists.
Just target practice and misses every time.

Cut yourself shaving and cry for a month.
I don't shame you,
this is your voice,
only you spoke this long while
I let you ignore the roads of the west side for generations
and complain from the heated indoors of mine.
Staring at a bus stop

I'm singing already with her, February.

I given you addictions both grand and small.

One month of January,
thirty-one says and three now, February.
I Stand still; in frame of a calendar,
Reflecting deadlines on my face.
Dark circles around my eyes and dates.

It is due to be the fourth before I know it.

Twenty-five opportunities reside in secret paths.

I can't find possibility knowing her name other than, February.

Soon March.
My life and thoughts in Jan'19
Bukowski, Cash and Dylan
Whiskey, twisted cigarettes and Thai take away.
How much can fit inside a room?
Boxes, armchairs, carpets and glasses.
I count them on my fingers, weight them, bump into them.
All based in the laws of physics, - space and volume.

The sheets on which you laid upon.
The mirrors that showed you forms and figures
-forms that meant to replace emotional loss.

The lips of glasses you used to bite.
-body movements as the expression of an inner void.
Repeated patterns of disorders - food for my poetry.
The plumes of countless cigarettes,
that offered the necessary filling for my insides.

Background noise that comes from the TV
Content: Chlamydia and young people in excitement
-reality show for cowards.
Your manhood spread all over like an octopus
expanding his 8 legs.
Open legs, so that your testosterone can take some air.

A packet of cigarettes, a mobile phone, lighter and a cotton swab.
All in line: from the largest to the smallest object.
Absolute symmetry of declining placement.

I walk ***** to the shower,
Winking to your manhood
While you remain
looking at me with your legs wide open.

I pass through you like a ghost
ghosts as you are.
Just like if I never existed
-just like you never existed too.
Walking down the same road
with blasting exceptional high-note trumpets in my ears.
The cold’s making my ******* hard and I enjoy the sudden thought of you.
I imagine you getting out of the shower
With steaming mirrors and drops of water on your arms.
How much **** could fit inside your garage I wonder.
I knock on the door.
How is your heart tonight?

Warm ***** and a warm glass of tea.
“It feels like a hug from the inside”
A sentence that could always make you laugh.

I look around while you are staring at my thighs.
Those few square meters are my lake:
Getting rid of my thirst in there, like a small animal,
while looking at the effortless romance of the surroundings,
the simplicity of tiny things and the scattered parts of you
hanging on the walls
vulnerable and careless for what’s about to come.
(your paintings or me? - who knows)

And then we talk and talk
And then talk some more
About things that make us laugh or even uncomfortable
And I always find amusing whatever you will say:
effortless as the surroundings and the charm of your little cat.
(43 seconds of silence)

I keep changing positions on that 2 persons blue couch
Knowing that you notice my inability to stay still.
I don’t know how to behave myself.
I kind of give up after 1 hour and 37 minutes,
switching between a cat and a tiger
Completely unaware of how I should control myself
around your sizzling energy.
And then I shamelessly put my lips on your forehead
And at that moment you know that
I want to make love to your messy brain
giving up on the idea that there is any chance for it to stop.

And ****, we kiss, with our two mouths making glorious music
Beating on the pulse of my right wrist.
And  I want to **** the confusion out of you,
But I **** everything else of you instead.

And there I am, laying half *****, feeling desired and trapped
in those ******* vibrations of my legs:
all because of your fingertips
that want my juices like thirsty snakes coming out of your arms.

And we are at that space and moment where I can’t do nothing
But smile full of **** hoping that this could last.

And the door opens and we say “ I will see you on Thursday”
And I am inelegantly faking my confidence for the inevitable.

The druggy satisfaction of a night at your garage
Tasting like the first cigarette of a very,
Frank DeRose Jan 23
My father shows definite signs of toxic masculinity.
Always with the "man up" or "toughen up"
I think he was afraid I was too sensitive.

When I was a kid, he told me it was okay to cry.

Then I guess I cried too much.
And it was no longer okay.

I learned to swallow my emotions,
Pills so big I thought I would choke.
My voice caught,
My feelings were strangled.

I learned, too, to listen and observe him more.
Yes, there was the homophobia,
There the unmistakable reek of feared emasculation,
The lines about how certain things were "effeminate,"
Including things like the way I sat,
Or wore my long hair,
In my own home, no less.

I don't think he thinks me very manly.

Never mind my compassion, loyalty, or steadfast, stubborn nature.

I've learned not to care so much what he thinks,
Though the very act of not caring hurts.
I'd like to be able to share who I am with him,
But I think he disapproves who I am,
The way I choose to live.

Never mind I am straight,
Though it would be no excuse if I were not.

Never mind I have a beard,
Though it would be no excuse if I were clean-shaven.

Never mind any of the qualities that I am,
Any of the things I am proud of,
Any of the reasons I call myself man.

To him, I am not masculine.
That knowledge sears like razor burn,
Leaves scarred tracts of pain and resentment.

Doth a man not bleed?
I suppose not.
Zywa Jan 17
He is sweet, but a man
In order to protect me
he loses

himself in impotence
acting tall
doesn't want to be consolable

on his haunches in the corner
hesitates to change
and ponders about a miracle

from himself, hungrily
the fire beats out of his heart
searching for fuel and glory

seeking balance and afraid
to find it in the ashes
of his desires
Collection “Webgarden”
David Abraham Jan 16
Can you feel the power coursing through you,
disguised as adrenaline,
when you swing your arm and before the blow even hits,
you feel all your anger and frustration fade, so now all you want is to fight?
You wanna kick and pitch a fit,
till your old ****** arms
are covered up by new scars,
but nothing like that matters because you're the last man standing.
Maybe the other boy, curled up on the ground now
with his arms thrown over his head,
broke your nose and made it even more crooked than before,
but you're the little freak who no one thought could win.
But you entered in
from a world where everyone called you ****
to be the freak who everyone only saw as a ****,
thin-shouldered and quieter than the boys he fought.

Maybe your quietness and meek, weak, malnourished look fooled you and all of them,
for look into your eyes in the mirror and see the gold and brown fighting through the green sheen,
the fire for everything you hate, all the things you're hitting and spitting on when you're through with them,
and when you stare into your own eyes you might recognize yourself.

Don't be fooled, boy, you're weak and you're sick,
your arms aren't thick
which muscle and dark hair,
and nothing about you is real,
with fabricated reactions and premeditated sentences,
all programmed into your brain, which fights itself in its confusion,
screaming, and smoking from the fight with itself, about what should be happening with your emptiness and with your bony chest.

Boy, you're hardly that,
just a *** who stares after the other guys,
but you're not sure if you're ***, because you really just want to be just like them.
Boy, at least you fall for pretty girls,
shorter and daintier than you, with more mellow hearts but stronger emotions,
and passions for poetry (not the kind you possess, rooted in your inability for expressions)
and always with love for another boy, a real boy to grow into a man.
2242 jan 15 2019

my mom and oldest sister like hate men but here i am, wanting desperately to grow into a man... this is addressed to myself 'cause i'm a freak to almost everyone and a large amount of people 'round here don't like jews like me.
c Jan 14
My father
Has been a Man
All his life
And I capitalize Man
Because his terms
Of masculinity
Include being
The Man

He doesn’t like the word
Unless it’s in his voice
And under his control

Control is his ego
I think
He likes a grip on everything
So tight it chokes us
And he wonders why
I’m slipping away
oddmanout Jan 10
She broke my heart
So I cried in my car
so desperate for help
But I would not ask

I'm an Alpha Male
Yes that is me
I have tattoos
and drink Whiskey
I fight sometimes
And stand up to ***

Days went by
My wrist scabbed over
I pretended to be happy
so my friends wouldn't see

I'd go to bars
but go home before too many
I didn't want my guard down
For them to see me vulnerable

I'm an Alpha Male
Yes that is me
I have tattoos
and drink Whiskey
I fight sometimes
And stand up to ***

One night I lay awake
bathing in tears
She was the only one
I had talked to

What if she told people
I'm not the man I seemed
And she told people
of my own fragility

How I felt alone
and like I wasn't good enough
How I hated myself
and the emotions that controlled

I'm an Alpha Male
Yes that is me
I have tattoos
and drink Whiskey
I fight sometimes
And stand up to ***

Well it was boiling over
I wanted it to end
life is not worth it
I didn't want to go on

I thought of my mother
she'd never be the same
I thought about my father
losing his oldest son

I thought of my brothers
without a role model
I thought of my friends
and the loneliness they'd feel

I picked up the phone
and I called my best friend
He answered the phone

And I just broke down

I'm an Alpha Male
Yes that is me
I get overwhelmed sometimes
and can feel quite lonely
I need help my dearest friends
I'm much more fragile than what you see
Was going through a hard time, and I'm a pretty stoic guy. Hardest thing in the world was to talk about what I was feeling, I wasn't raised that way. Sometimes I still have trouble, but I'm trying to communicate my emotions more.
You see my smile, you hear my laughter
I'm happy right? All the signs add up
But beneath the fragile shell
There's more than ants under this rock

Do you need to see my eyes sting with tears
To know i'm crumbling deep inside?
Would sitting on the edge tell you
That something may be amiss?

I'm a boy who must be a man
Raised not knowing what man must be
So is it any surprise that i'm at odds with
My own masculinity?

What you see before you
Is a supernova of smoke and mirrors
Hiding the void of the collapsing star
Broken at the core

Rakib Dec 2018
What good is a masculinity so fragile,
That it harbors misery and shatters souls?

What good is an alliance so toxic,
That it tweaks tears as opposed to laughter?

So speak up and break free,
Live life merry as long as your body does plea.
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