#manhood
Broken Bottles
I’m a man, I should be good at this.
It’s supposedly our specialty.
What else do we do?
I’ve crammed and crushed,
All I’ve felt,
bottling it forever
Each passing day, a new crack appears.
Years have passed, with these building cracks.
What was once a vessel, water-tight and whole,
now is covered in web-like scars,
leaking, porous, and nearly broken.
Am I then not a man?
Am I still a boy?
If I were a stronger man,
would the bottles never shatter?
Or does a better man fix his breaks with plaster?
I fear I’ll never learn.
(04-27-25, Munich)
Apr 2
Apr 2, 2026 at 11:27 PM UTC
I want things my way—yeah, I see it now
But wisdom tells me that road ain’t free
If life bent fully to my will somehow
I’d probably dislike the man I’d be
I pray to be better than I was before
More grounded in purpose, less driven by pride
I learned that real growth doesn’t keep score
It shows in restraint, not the shine
I want patience longer than my pride
A softer tone when I’m sure I’m right
I want my faith stronger than the coming tide
And my actions are clean when my ego fights
I don’t pray to win—I pray to align
To hear correction without offense
To leave old habits and call it fine
When growth costs comfort and pretense
I’m learning peace ain’t passive or weak
It’s discipline dressed in calm
It’s biting my tongue when pride wants to speak
And choosing growth—and sometimes being wrong
I’m done mistaking dominance for care
Or pressure for being a man
Real strength is knowing when to step back
And trust what I don’t understand
I don’t ask God to make life light
I ask Him to make me ready
To carry truth, even when it’s tight
To walk upright when the road gets heavy
And if tomorrow humbles me again,
I won’t argue, rush, or defend.
I’ll measure progress by who I am then.
I’m not chasing crowns or louder praise,
Just alignment when I pray.
If I rise a little more each day,
Then I’m better than I was yesterday.
Jan 13
Jan 13, 2026 at 5:46 PM UTC
There’s something about the way he doesn’t chase…
It’s not the swagger. Not the smirk.
Not the way his shirt clings when he works.
It’s how he doesn’t beg the light
he walks in shadow, and still feels right.
He doesn’t claim me. He just looks
and in that look, he rewrites books.
The kind with knights and velvet beds,
with whispered vows and tangled threads.
He moves like time forgot to rush.
His silence holds a speaking hush.
He doesn’t grab he lets me choose,
And yet I burn if I refuse.
His hands could bruise, but never try.
They trace my skin like lullaby.
He guards, not cages. Leads, not binds
And in his arms, the world unwinds.
He calls me wild. He keeps me free.
He doesn’t need to conquer me.
And still, I’d kneel, I’d bend, I’d melt,
For how his quiet power’s felt.
There’s chivalry in how he waits,
In how he touches no locked gates.
And when he moves, it’s not to own,
But to remind me, I’m not alone.
So here’s to him: the kind of man
Who doesn’t boast, but simply can.
Who wins no throne, but takes command
Just by the way he dares to stand.
Jul 4, 2025
Jul 4, 2025 at 5:20 AM UTC
💍
She may walk like fire
and speak like wine,
but her lips
carry the ashes
of another man’s home.
Desire is not worth
the ruin you inherit.
No glory is found
in tasting
a betrayal
you didn’t earn.
🖤
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 2:29 AM UTC
Are you man enough
To walk the path carved in your marrow?
To let instinct speak?
Can you listen to the wild in your chest
not tame it, but understand it?
Are you man enough
to protect without owning,
to fight without hatred,
to cry without retreat,
to bleed and still rise
not as a martyr,
but as a force of nature returning to form?
You are not a flaw in evolution.
You are its edge,
its hammer,
its echo through time.
Stand tall,
not in defiance of the world,
but in allegiance to what made you.
Nature never doubted you.
Why should you?
May 16, 2025
May 16, 2025 at 7:43 PM UTC
I sleep knowing,
I’m always close to the edge of death
I believe in the air,
never thinking much to count a breath
I sit comfortably in public,
not knowing the age of the chair
I accept a leader’s change,
never questioning if it’s actually fair
I ride passenger,
never wondering if the driver feels suicidal
I say amen as a crowd,
not knowing if the people even believe in the Bible
I lie, I cry, I love, I hate, I forgive, I resent,
I live to treat, but sometimes I need one’s care
But as a man,
I cannot cheat on my barber, when it comes to my hair.
Jan 26, 2025
Jan 26, 2025 at 2:48 PM UTC
The sacrifices of boys and men
Their own devices of joys and sin
The costly prices of ploys to win
The lonely crisis that destroys within
Aug 9, 2024
Aug 9, 2024 at 11:20 PM UTC
Feeling like half the man I used to be
I look to the sky desperately
Noticing something I don't usually see
The moon keeping the sun company
But the visual hit a little differently
Like I unknowingly unlocked some mystic mystery
Probably due to the particular mindset I'm in currently
But looking back at me was a half moon in all it's majesty
And I thought about it's cycle, it's personal journey
From full to empty then back again for all of eternity
Then my thoughts drift back to me,
Back to that feeling of illegitimacy
And this new found possibility
Based on the moon cycle imagery
Could it be something I could copy?
I guess I'll have to wait and see
But a sliver of hope, like the sliver of a crescent moon, may be all I need...maybe
Maybe I too could be whole again if I just move forward patiently
©2024
Jun 7, 2024
Jun 7, 2024 at 1:51 PM UTC
Burns Creek
Climbing Chimney Rock.
Dad and David Scoville
In their mid 30s,
Two men out to prove
Their bravery,
Their derring-do.
Nervous,
My Mother,
My brother and I,
Five and six,
Necks craning,
Wait and watch;
Dad moves up and up
Clings to the top.
Inept and six,
I stand below,
Admiring my Father's
Fearlessness.
I am nearly blind,
The myopic, thick-lensed gawker,
Peering upward.
The men climb down,
Victorious,
The day’s challenges
Vanquished.
Heading home,
Choking dust.
Old land,
Deep ravines,
Rattle snake domain.
My father's old Ford
Bumps over red scoria,
Billows burning dust.
Ancient land,
Cindered clay,
Open grazing land,
Dry and hot.
Memories churn
From sixty years ago.
Feb 2, 2022
Feb 2, 2022 at 9:08 AM UTC
What does it mean to be a man?
A hush quiets the room.
Seriously, what does it mean? I asked.
Because I've searched online forums and the trolls don't have much right to say,
I'd ask my father as if he would know himself,
I look at celebrities, friends, strangers, and yet I still wonder....
What does it mean to be a man?
Heaven help me because role models are hard to find. If God created sinners he must have made men with a special idea in mind.
Why do I desire something that is so hard to understand?
So tell me, what does it really mean to be a man?
Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 6:30 PM UTC
What kind of a father
Would you be to my child
Would you hold them
To your chest
When they’re crying
Would you kiss them goodnight
Would you be patiently caring
Bringing strength to our lives
Simply asking these questions
To know what you’re like
Would you be a good father
The worth-choosing kind
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 3:15 PM UTC
I busted open the door,
breathed in the **** smell
Floored by the busted bottles,
used to beat females
Beneath me, was a body,
her bust exposed as she lied on the floor
The liquor must of licked her, it missed her in her misery
How’d she get mixed with pimps, and unsavory misters?
Money.
Funny,
Dead presidents solve most mysteries
I see north of me, broken pictures and light fixtures
They say demons do their deeds in the darkness,
These ****** damages defile as they fill in, this apartment
The AC, broke, like empty pockets,
The place equivalent to an icebox
The ice on my wrist
at home in one way
But cool things will get you shot,
You can’t strut on these runways
I take some steps, I hear the wood scream
Similar to when he laid her down in the sheets
I find *** and a *** of crack cookin on the stovetop
The trash has McDonald’s wrappers, his diet a disaster
Bras of five different women on the floor
Probably people purchased at clubs, to do his ***** chores
I can see his finances are a mess, but his spirit is what’s poor
Pores are sweatin, as I hear the walls of my past confessing
THIS IS HOME
This is where I was raised, actually no, where I was brought down
Baby mamas in rotation like my favorite mixtapes
My mind like what a place, ain’t no way I’m a stay
He had his life all backwards, and I could never set him straight?
I walked into Man’s Hood, I’m just glad I escaped
But the women still abused, and the drugs he uses
God, I’m 20 years old, this a lot on my plate
I feel called to fix it, maybe that’s why I’m back
I came for my bags, but the baggage attacks
I hear a cry, a child breaks out in a whimper
A skinny lil boy, probably missed too many dinners
A son of another woman but my brother the same
How can I make change if I run away
THIS IS HOME
I wipe his tears, tell him, it’ll be okay
I stayed for that night.
The future an unknown
Oct 30, 2020
Oct 30, 2020 at 11:51 PM UTC
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Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 5:23 PM UTC
Boundless
by Michael R. Burch
for Jeremy Michael Burch
Every day we whittle away at the essential solidity of him,
and every day a new sharp feature emerges:
a feature we’ll spend creative years: planing, smoothing, refining,
trying to find some new Archaic Torso of Apollo, or Thinker . . .
And if each new day a little of the boisterous air of youth is deflated
in him, if the hours of small pleasures spent chasing daffodils
in the outfield as the singles become doubles, become triples,
become unconscionable errors, become victories lost,
become lives wasted beyond all possible hope of repair . . .
if what he was becomes increasingly vague—like a white balloon careening
into clouds; like a child striding away aggressively toward manhood,
hitching an impressive rucksack over sagging, sloping shoulders,
shifting its vaudevillian burden back and forth,
then pausing to look back at us with an almost comical longing . . .
if what he wants is only to be held a little longer against a forgiving *****
to chase after daffodils in the outfield regardless of scores;
to sail away like a balloon
on a firm string, always sure to return when the line tautens,
till he looks down upon us from some removed height we cannot quite see,
bursting into tears over us:
what, then, of our aspirations for him, if he cannot breathe,
cannot rise enough to contemplate the earth with his own vision,
unencumbered, but never untethered, forsaken . . .
cannot grow brightly, steadily, into himself—flying beyond us?
Keywords/Tags: child, childhood, boy, son, growing up, maturation, puberty, adulthood, manhood, flight, flying, soaring
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 3:30 AM UTC
i was bron being told a man is somebody who hides his countenance adeptly
But what exactly defines a man ?
Is it the hair on the cheeks ?
the depth of our wallets ?
or is it the strength of our arms ?
we are taught how not to express our feelings
and how it makes us look weak
so hiding emotions defines a man ?
or is it our aloofness ?
or is man hood just desperation
born of the isolation
of our indoctrination
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 11:55 AM UTC
For the man who has a thirty minute skin routine, you look great!
For the man who likes to be suited and booted, you look dapper!
For the man who meditated for an hour a day, you are zen!
For the man who cried three times last week, you are strong!
For the man who lifts weights every day, you look ****
For the man who is struggling to tell his family about his boyfriend, you are loved!
For the man who lives in fear of domestic abuse, you are not alone!
For the man who craves cuddles and affection, you will find it!
Manliness is a concept that is misappropriated,
There is a cliche that plagues you all,
But being proud of who you are,
Is what makes you manly,
Stand tall!
Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 5:13 PM UTC
Love isnt perfect meeting perfect.
Its a covenant taken in hand: promising
to push through floods and flaws
despite our own imperfections...
-
We're all human, knowing
darkness and what its like to be broken.
Let love be your light, mending your
broken p i e c e s...
-
I'm an imperfect man,
but I'm a man to say the least,
and I will continue to push so that
love may continue to increase‼️
-
@desire.is.dope
20190704
2354HRS
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 1:31 AM UTC
This, the generation
Of the Trampling Bull,
The trodding of the Crop,
The headlong raging run,
With never any stop.
Having pulled the stakes,
Dragging tethers;
Pawing unchecked,
Throwing clods above his withers;
Fence posts falling,
The corners cave.
Town boys chase him
With sticks,
Unable to check or to drive
His rampant run,
O'er suffering fields.
Where are the men
Who'll come to force him,
Bellowing,
Back into civility?
Where are the men?
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 8:41 PM UTC
I once wrote words on paper,
Words that flowed from my soul.
I once had a pen full of ink,
Which dripped dreams upon my sheet.
I once fell asleep in my youth,
Then I awoke as a man.
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 12:03 AM UTC
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
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 10:10 PM UTC
i can't help but look
as the man you thought i was dies
and the person i really am
crawls into bed beside you
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 9:50 AM UTC
I walked into the room
Surprised to find you alone
You sit there ignoring me as if you were expecting my company
I sit down next to you
Wondering what was going to happen next
You kiss me and grab me like an alcoholic grabs a bottle after a long day of sobriety
You slowly move closer and begin to nestle yourself into me to find some sort of comfort
Moments later you ask how I’m doing
I tell you the truth
“I’m doing fine”
even though that is far from reality
but in my head, it sounds right
my words travel in one ear out the other
but I don’t mind
I’m here with you
And that’s all I wanted
I proceed to return the favor and ask how are you
And with the same intentions
You reply, “I’m fine”
It’s the silence that kills
The elephant in the corner
Staring at both of us
First at you, then at me
You’re good like that
Ignoring the obvious
Or maybe your just not bothered by it at all
But for me it the only thing on my mind
I try to be like you
But I guess I just care more
Not long after the silence is broken
We migrate from one room to another
You slowly begin to undress
Which signals me to do the same
You grab me and throw me on your bed
I’m stunned but carry on
We proceed with our usual endeavors
Your hand between my legs
Searching for a reaction
I give you what you want
Even though my attention is elsewhere
You tell me to move up and you continue
You notice somethings up and tell me I’m tense
I guess my acting wasn’t on point and you caught me
You tell me to breath and relax
But you and I both know that’s not going to work
We proceed and I pretend some more
You look up for a reaction and I give you that satisfaction
And when your finished
It’s my turn to make you moan
I get to work
I make sure to do all the things I know will make your hair stand up
I move lower and lower
Till the only thing left do is swallow your pride
You grab my hair and push me down
You love it when you have control
You pull me up to your face and kiss me
I expected this to happen next
We play the same chords over and over again
Only to continue with the movements
But this time it’s different
And right before the end you tell me you missed me
But you didn’t miss me
You missed what my body provides
A place to hold your manhood
And like the alcoholic needs a drink
You need someone to cherish your manhood
My body to you is who I am
It’s what you crave
You need the parts of me that serve you
That’s what you miss
I lie there in silence
Staring at the elephant
Until I finally say
I missed you too
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 11:26 PM UTC
I sit by the window
In absent mindedness
Speaker of the so-called
grey crested emotions.
No more wine?
No more dead birds?
as happy as the outer space
as poor as my manhood.
I sit by the window
and
I touch you in the night
Like the hero of your dream
Prosecuted and paralyzed
by the hallowed love
I touch you cold,
tell me,
how close is this to a lipless grin? .
- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC