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jcl Jun 27
i look out into dark, savoring the quiet, the stillness of new dawn, wondering who die today, whose life will end and whose will change forever, sending a shock of wave of pain and grief from an epicenter of a dead soldier

who will die today, whose mother wife daughter will cry today, whose father son brother will fall today

the sun has risen, reality has set in, its time to ride, its time for some to die, we roll the dice, who will land snake eyes

to sit in the humvee, knowing you are playing russian roulette, you can’t  have hope, no inkling of a dream, lose the desire, it is the only way to survive, knowing you may die, give up all hope, consider yourself dead, be grateful at the end of the day when you are not. the drive down suicide alley, like the walk up gallow’s stairs. now i know how they felt. you surrender to fate. you stop thinking, you stop feeling, you go numb.

no longer in control, my life is no longer mine to live or die

i don’t believe in You, not since i was a boy, but i pray, that if we hit an IED, that i die instantaneously. i don’t want to lay on the ground, feeling the horror of dying, crying that i want to live, screaming out for my mother like i’ve seen happen to other guys

there are things worse than death, the living hell of coming home in pieces, physically damaged, emotionally traumatized, spiritually disillusioned, which slowly erodes and destroys your life. a new war, another battle, this time at home, fought in your head. the cycle of trauma 6-9-12, addiction, depression, how long do you let yourself free fall till you hit rock bottom

i am a man, i am not suppose to be afraid, but i am, i can’t show or say, not to them, especially not to you. i am not allowed to show fear, be vulnerable, you will lose respect, stop loving me, tell me to man up, in some subtle way

when everyone has left, everything lost, when the pain is greater than the fear. you must, you will, reach out, or die in combat, killed in action, in the war fought in your mind.
Ragged mountains and rough terrains,
Withstanding storms and heavy rains.
Warm rays of sunshine bring light.
Bearing hues of black and white.

To the touch it feels like a freshly mowed lawn.
A promise of tummy tickling at dawn.
A relaxing walk in an uninhabited forest.
A tempestuous hike to the top of Everest.

You could be a renegade or a mad scientist
An investment banker or electric guitarist.
A biker's beard could be just as immaculate.
Rough as sandpaper or soft as velvet.
Beards
Jenna Apr 25
People walk all about
Humming a soundless tune of self-doubt
The drinks keep coming
Steeped in endless fuming

Friends joke around
A truth sealed and bound
Hiding behind a deadpan
Sustaining the image of an American man

‘More!’, everyone shouts
Raising their cups forgetting their spouse
Sitting here with a straight face
Wanting to forget my workplace
This is based off Miss Lonelyhearts by Nathaniel West. Please give me lots of feedback even if you have not read the book. Thank! :)
A man is a man
Is a man
He stands tall
With strong shoes
And blue jeans
And red wings
He does not strut
But
He owns the block
With his talk and walk

A man is a man
He understands
To be gruff is to be loved
To be aloof is to be good
Muscles to waste away
And away
And away
And

A man
Broke the rule
A man
Choked me through
Pulled me too close
Transparent as ghosts
An unyielding lust

To the horrors of man
Stare into fear
Such horrid leer

But please
Don't
Hurt
Me
So
I
Let
This
Man
Take and steal and scare and sing
Or better yet his radio sang

Such a long quiet sorrowful manly drive
For those who wish to thrive

Be a man?
No
Take a stand

For a man is a man is a man is
A
Man

Man
You broke my life
Left me as bile
But I'm still alive
With vision for miles
I see it clearly now
I see that a man is a man is a man
I understand
You're sad
I’ve been questioning what it is to be manly vs what it is to be human vs what it is to even be alive. A man isn't measured by the power of his centerpiece, if you will. A man is measured by his ability to respect boundaries and not force himself, be it emotionally or physically, upon others. That right there is a man. Manhood is respect.
Chicken Mar 4
Hey don't cross the creep line,
Buddy,

That's seven questions too many.

One compliment too much,
Wow,

Watch the energy fold up in my crotch, deploying the missile defence system, that you thought no woman
could ever have.
The line, or fence [boundary], is there for a reason.

The ‘wow’ is the point where the male misses polite signals given by the female, yet still ignores, proceeds with his inappropriate verbal attempts at coming over the other side of that fence.

Stay back buddy, this chicken is armed with mastery n you are stupified by your own standards.
G Mar 3
There once was a ledge way out at the edge, of the world,
Where one day a man found himself in the hands of the girls, who lived in The Land of Do as You Please.

The man was aghast for he remembered the past when the girls would sit with their hands behind their backs, and promise to wait on his beck and call.

So when he returned to the land he was distinctly appalled, for none of the girls paid him any attention at all. He took them and shook them, and called them all out. Screaming and Screaming " Ma'am what's this all about?"

Finally, out of all of the noise, emerged a beautiful woman full of grace and poise. She said to the man, " Sir! Get down on your knees! For after all, this is The Land of Do as You Please!" So without further ado the man took off his shoes, shaking with anger for he didn't like to lose. He looked at the woman with anger and spite, and lifted his fist with all of his might. Before the man with the oversized hands, could land a blow, the beautiful woman's eyes started to glow.

She turned bright red, looked to him and said, " Well my good sir, I think you might be just dead!"

With a final breath rattling from his chest, the big man lay his head down to rest. The woman sighed and looked around, for there were piles and piles of other men laying on the ground. All meeting the same fate as the last, each of their ideals also stuck in the past. The woman turned smiling glee, knowing she was finally safe, in The Land of Do as You Please.
Lou Feb 3
2019
       was
              the
                     year
                          I was
                             to do
                                  more
                       ­        only
                              to
                         find
                      I
           should
      do 
less


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,
forever.

Fridays,
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 naked 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 lust 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 naked, 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 lust 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,
good,
day.
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.
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