#modernman
How curious the way a longer line
now sends some wandering off like startled birds
as though a thought that takes it's time
were somehow ruder than the hurried words
they skim like stones across a restless stream
No matter; depth was never meant for speed
Some gardens only bloom for those who linger
and if a page ask more than one can heed
It is hardly Poetry that grows meager
Just those who cannot stay to read
Nov 24, 2025
Nov 24, 2025 at 8:35 AM UTC
What defines a man?
Someone with dignity? Someone with shame?
Someone vulnerable, or “someone” in vain?
A vague answer—I'll be honest then,
Society’s standards? Cruel and dishonest, man.
You speak up—you’re disregarded.
You make an effort—you’re outsmarted.
You do nothing? You're called a ******* regardless.
Try to hold ground? Your stance gets blasted.
Vulnerability. Breakdowns. Mental fatigue.
A man’s life—just pain with no relief.
A faint smile, a brief breath, penned on a sheet.
That’s what this is, boys—so buckle your seats while I preach.
A man's life is a lie.
His smile, his words—his emotions, all a disguise.
He lies because he cares.
He finds ways to fix, not vanish into thin air.
His day begins with thoughts of his loved ones,
And ends with them.
Yet the only flowers he ever receives
Are laid at the end.
Poor appreciation. No oxytocin—
That's how he lives.
All he wants is to see his family smile,
To make ’em proud, and meet every wish.
Loving children and an adorable wife,
Still, he gets caught in conflict and strife.
Trapped in the webs, looking for light—
He knows no matter how loud he shouts,
It’s all silent. Mute. No sound in sight.
He doesn’t complain like he used to do.
This masked way of living? He’s grown used to.
A constant tug-of-war with everything.
Wearing the mask, that smile, and the pretending.
’Cause this is a judgmental world,
Where male discomfort is dismissed as vile.
No one cares for a man—
“That’s just how they are,” says Society with a smile.
“A man should be tough.” “Stop being so weak.”
“Only a weakling cries.”
Why these beliefs?
Is a man not human? Can’t he break—
Even once, without being called fake?
Can’t these so-called standards vanish for a jiffy?
Let the noise hush, just for an iffy.
The situation’s looking a bit tricky.
So much for equality—when the loudest cries dissolve a man too quickly.
No offense to victims, but truth gets murky when empathy turns picky.
We need balance, not blame—before the silence gets sticky.
So much for fairness, when power plays the sound—
And those holding the mics are just money-hungry hounds.
But let me leave you with names they forgot to pronounce—
Prometheus, who stole fire so men might renounce
The cold chains of darkness, gave light for free,
And was punished by gods for daring to see.
Or Sigurd the Valiant, who slew Fáfnir the beast,
A man, not divine—just brave, to say the least.
He bathed in the blood, understood the birds’ song,
Betrayed by the world, yet stood strong all along.
These weren’t monsters. These were men.
Not flawless—but free, with a truth in their pen.
So next time they say, “All men are the same,”
Remember the fire. Remember the flame.
One man can burn,
And still change the game.
-Asher Graves
Apr 10, 2025
Apr 10, 2025 at 10:50 PM UTC
For G.C
I'm on the dole, in therapy, taking meds
and posting statuses. I drink far too much
caffeine and read too little. The cops are bad
and the drug dealers, good. I wear shades
to hide fatigue and spoil pavements with
cigarette ends and receipts. I stay awake
all night meditating, looking for that
deep-sleep pill and peace of mind.
I'm a modern man and an old soul,
stretched out on a beach towel in suburbia.
I punctuate my day with digital smiles
and late night calls to my pillow-talk
sweetheart. All milestones are published,
doctored and time-stamped to ensure
that every moment is lived in memory.
The sky is concrete and the ceiling, made
of glass. I watch tree surgeons clean
the economy's veins, retired carpenters
tending to their miniature Eden, as
the rapists neck their third can by the
fire escape. There are hosepipe bans
and water-gun fights, crowded hospitals
and empty funds. The government are
insane and only the lunatic fringe can
make sense of things. I'm sleeping naked
and checking my prostate in the shower.
There are bowel movements in the
cubicles and Zionism rolls on by through
every other wide-screen joint in town.
I'm chasing jobs and avoiding eye-contact,
throwing coins into the wishing well and
hoping for change. I'm a modern man
and a miserable Old ****
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC