"manliness" poems
My most favorite thing
Is when they still have long hair
And dress like guys do now
Not super baggy pants
But not form fitting either
And you take them to bed,
Or, knowing stems,
They take you to bed.
And all that manliness
About them is still
Just barely there,
In the slope of their shoulders
And the way their hands touch you
But then they get undressed
And it's the most beautiful
Combination
Of boy and girl.
They're so fresh and confident
But not cocky
They're respectful and talented
And it's like they try to only
Show the manly side
But then you get into bed
And it's like unwrapping
A present
That only gets better
Every time you unwrap it
A little piece of their femininity
Uncovered just for you,
In that moment only.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC
To be a gentleman in a Chatroom,
One must always introduce themselves as a number.
As an age.
To inform the fine maidens of the Chatroom that,
'Yes! I am legal.'
So that way they feel obliged to tell you:
'Why, I am too!'
You must also accompany such a number with your gender.
Just so that they won't get confused,
And know that you are a
masculine
manly man
of manliness.
It is of the Gentleman's Etiquette to note your existence afterwards.
A simple 'Here' would suit.
Or spice it up with a
'You?'
Afterwards.
Make sure you always ask how your possible future **** partner is feeling, it's only polite. If they say
'I'm feeling wonderful, how about you?'
or
'My day's been ghastly. How about yours?'
- No matter what the answer, make sure to reply with a steady:
'Nothing much', or if you're feeling impatient, 'nm'
Just to show that no, you don't really care
and want to get straight into business.
- Which shows that you are a man with a clear goal in mind, and as we all know, women adore men with confidence!
The next step is the bargain.
You need to sell yourself to the feline with flair,
Ferocity,
Wit, style, charisma.
'Wanna fuck?'
And if they reject your courteous advances, all you can do is tip your hat and carry on to the next lady in waiting.
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 1:48 AM UTC
VIII. TO ARES (17 lines)
(ll. 1-17) Ares, exceeding in strength, chariot-rider, golden-
helmed, doughty in heart, shield-bearer, Saviour of cities,
harnessed in bronze, strong of arm, unwearying, mighty with the
spear, O defence of Olympus, father of warlike Victory, ally of
Themis, stern governor of the rebellious, leader of righteous
men, sceptred King of manliness, who whirl your fiery sphere
among the planets in their sevenfold courses through the aether
wherein your blazing steeds ever bear you above the third
firmament of heaven; hear me, helper of men, giver of dauntless
youth! Shed down a kindly ray from above upon my life, and
strength of war, that I may be able to drive away bitter
cowardice from my head and crush down the deceitful impulses of
my soul. Restrain also the keen fury of my heart which provokes
me to tread the ways of blood-curdling strife. Rather, O blessed
one, give you me boldness to abide within the harmless laws of
peace, avoiding strife and hatred and the violent fiends of
death.
5.6k
Father is a verb.
- Let me explain:
Father's Day; and
Father Christmas
have tried to convince us,
but don't be fooled:
You can, may or will father,
depending on your mood.
For father is a verb.
It only works in the transitive;
you can't father alone,
only in relationship.
It doesn't resent hospital trips,
and offers wrap-around comfort
when a partnership splits.
It's touch-line volume
drowns out all rivals.
And belly laughs come standard
with jokes on recycle.
[insert joke here]
Yes, father is a verb.
It's something we each do,
despite the hour,
it drives right on through
the night when life’s gone sour.
It'll hammer ten finger nails
to get the job done.
It will dance, heedless of decorum
forgetting reputation.
It turns manliness
into awesome-men-ness,
It tempers strength
with a dose of gentleness, yes
father is a verb.
Be sure, whoever you are,
it works in the singular:
I can father;
You can father
(I'm not talking *** here;
that takes a partner.)
But also,
- it works in the plural -
we can father;
and they can father,
because, you see, in this village
it's an joint activity:
we father (and we mother)
collaboratively.
It works best in the present tense,
happening now, not "LATER!".
It can be said in a gentle voice
or something - even - quieter;
sometimes active:
directive, protecting;
but often responsive:
just sitting, listening;
...holding, and, hugging;
it responds to need, you see,
but works best proactively,
works great
sacrificially.
For example,
though it cost him dearly,
God Fathers us
and through us daily.
And one day, suit pressed,
He'll proudly walk
with the bride of Christ.
And as Father of the bride,
He'll host the party and blow the price;
(- BIGGEST - bar-bill - EVER)
And we'll be sure to save at least one dance
for Father.
Oh yes, you heard,
Father is a verb.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
I entered the room and there you were..
Sitting at a table with friends..
Your eyes dancing with laughter...
Your smile full of child like amusement...
I was instantly attracted to the ease with which you held your space in time...
Comfortable within your manliness..
Yet a little vulnerable within your beingness...
I felt the need to connect with you...
To share our ideas, experiences, desires and our passions...
As I allowed my mind to fantasize...I could feel you lying beside me..
Cradling my body, protecting and shielding me with your strength and wisdom...
Should I go and introduce myself?
Should I allow my fears and uncertainties keep me from allowing the.. per chance encounter?
Could this be love sitting across the room from me?
Or just an illusion...
Do I take a risk or let it pass out of my life...
The moment gone forever...
Taking a sip of wine..enjoying the flavor and sensation entering my body...I slowly rise..
Our eyes meet and we smile..
Excitement running through my veins...
and then..
I walk out the door
Oct 13, 2010
Oct 13, 2010 at 1:35 PM UTC
Steamy hot lazy summer day,
Layin' around, not much to say.
No surprise and not by chance,
Is the thought of you in skintight pants.
Is it midday? It got real warm,
No, just a reaction to the upcoming storm.
Not here are you, but it matters little,
I will play my member, just like a fiddle.
My thoughts of you burning desire,
My manliness climbs higher and higher.
Sensual lips pressed up against mine,
Tasting better than a classic wine.
Your southern lips they burn like fire,
As I stroke them, soon we will sire.
I place my lips to the burning mound,
And kiss and tease, you fall to the ground.
I climb upon you and hear you say,
"Wait a minute, I have a better way."
You climb upon me and rock and ******
Until my body turns to powdered dust.
We lay together and fall a sleep,
Secret is our *** I can keep.
The next thing I know I open my eyes,
And you are before me, to my surprise.
"Hi honey, how was your day?"
I grab you and tell you, "it went this way."
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
I hate you when you catcall her
I feel the anger rise, tightly coiled in my stomach
Clench my fists and feel my blood pound,
Because I know what you do to her,
Reducing her to her body, just for your pleasure.
To you she is only a body, just another opportunity to prove
your manliness, your superiority.
Just another girl to humiliate.
I know this and my rage roars, a dragon, untamable
ready to tear into you the second you try it with me.
But then as I walk pass, the voices are silent.
No calls, no whistles,
I don't exist.
The dragon within me becomes confused,
am I really so ugly, so unwanted, so plain,
that the **** on the streets, the ******** who harass girls as they walk,
won't even look at me?
What's wrong with me?
The dragon fades and a new type of hate arises.
I hate myself, my stupid hair, my ******* up jaw, my plain appearance.
I should feel lucky for the blessed silence, the peaceful walk,
but instead I feel a nauseating sense of shame and hate for myself,
As I tuck my head down like a good girl and hurry home,
Trying not to cry.
Society has turned being harassed as a goal to reach for.
Keep telling us "it's a compliment"
And sooner or later we'll start to believe it.
But that doesn't make it true.
So I sit sharping my nails, not sure whose throat to rip out,
Yours? Or mine?
Because you've told me,
It's not ladylike for me to hate anyone,
Except myself.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Let me continue the story about a guy named Akshant,
Who belonged to Mathura in India, once the city of Krishna.
Akshant rejoined college and scored acceptably well this time,
He had realized his mistakes while he was to stay at home.
Repentance on committing mistakes intentionally was ripe,
He barely controlled the regret from flowing through his eyes.
Anamika was the only friend who was by his side in this time,
Giving him relief from loneliness which rang as the door chime.
Akshant had a poor memory so not much could stay on his mind,
Stressing his memory too much would only make his brain to grind.
Akshant then studied cautiously holding onto Anamika's hand,
Cautious he was not to crush it as he had formerly done to others.
He brightened up his professional life along with the romantic life,
And he scored brilliantly given his mental health was really affected.
The dried clots inside his brain were still an issue two years later,
But he controlled himself to not harm others from his anger.
The clots used to come out through as tears and ear wax,
Almost all was physically well after three more years.
Akshant went Kodaikanal after his bachelor's degree college,
He was an eligible bachelor when he had a job confirmation.
This happened when he was drifting away in the Kodai lake,
Anamika who sat next to him in the boat congratulated him.
Now Anamika confessed her feelings for Akshant in the boat,
Akshant couldn't find any words & found himself quite quiet.
This made Anamika challenge and taunt about his manliness,
Which caused Akshant get enraged & kiss his reply on her lips.
The boat swayed terribly in the star-shaped lake's still waters,
Anamika ogled & felt her hair get wet & this made her ****** Akshant.
She started kissing him back now & her eyes were coming back to normal,
These had been wide ogling when Akshant had started kissing hard and so it was.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
Prayer of St. Joseph
Dear St. Joseph most chaste spouse of the Blessed ****** Mary and earthly father to our Lord Jesus let your soft and strong spirit be upon us this day. You were a quiet and reflective man. You were humble and modest. In a world that in this day does not place a high value on such virtues that you portray, we look to you St. Joseph as a shining example of what fatherhood and manliness can truly be. You were a carpenter, a builder, a worker. Yours were strong hands; rough and calloused from work, but they were also gentle and loving hands. Surely each piece you built was a work of love and crafted with great care. The hugs you must have given Jesus were so strong and gentle. You taught your son how to build as well. It is of little wonder then that the cross he would suffer and die on would become a great bridge connecting us to each other and to your son in heaven. Yours were warm loving eyes. Eyes full of sadness, pain, and incredible joy. Was there a time when it was revealed to you what your son must endure? I can’t image what that would’ve felt like knowing what was going to happen, desperately wanting it not to, and still knowing it was God’s will. Even with all of that you said “Yes Lord. Okay. Let your will be done. I trust in you”. I only hope we might have the smallest bit of the faith, the peace, and the quiet strength that you had. Be with us St. Joseph that we might learn how to better love, better serve, and better protect the sanctity of marriage and of the family. Be with us St. Joseph in our jobs that we may remain humble in the good work that we do. Let all the work that we do, be done with great love. Bless us St. Joseph and especially those that work with their hands. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our eyes so that we may see and love others in a more profound light and that our vision would not be clouded by pain and sadness. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our minds and our hearts that we might have the grace and strength to be pure and chaste as you were. Bless us St. Joseph and bless our souls that we might obtain some of the peace, the quiet strength, the faith to say “Yes” to your son and “No” to the wiles of this Earth. Bless us oh Most Holy St. Joseph that one day we may come to know you and be with you and the Holy Family in Heaven for all eternity.
Amen
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 10:43 PM UTC
I get home, to a hand crafted
note, one you wrote, with
the old calligraphy pen, that
sits at grandfathers writing desk.
You even used the envelope,
sealed by candle wax, stamped
a red wax, my initial, touching,
folded paper, a kiss of brass.
The art of, manliness, unforgotten
left on the pillow, of this grandiose
four poster bed, mahogany homemade,
the resting place, for weekend affairs.
You refuse to kiss, ruby covered lips,
as I remember the calling card, you
used as a formal introduction, perfectly
groomed, you entered my life, unregrettably.
You, a man learned from his, grandfather
his own father passing away, whilst
away at sea, that cold and distant war,
my tears fell as you pursued his path.
You looked so debonair, a
tuxedo, measured to fit, all alignments
and as I stare at you, eyes connecting
all I wish for, are sweet kisses.
I want your arms around me,
softly whispering, of how you
will gently caress, each
and every curve, kissing my thigh.
The letter, quite simply,
hand typed, reads;
Florence Rose, will you do me the honor of marrying me?
I flush my arms around your neck,
tears fall, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.
He embraces me, kisses those lips,
lifts me to the bed,
********** me for minutes
moments and hours,
he makes love to me,
and I know, I know he,
is the only man I will ever need,
or even know.
© Sia Jane
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
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Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 5:43 AM UTC
"...In the young man's bedroom
police found disturbing
poetry, drawings, and writings.
The boy's father said he
knew about these
and encouraged the
boy to stop them."
The television droned on.
A school shooting.
Numbers, irrelevant.
The boy took his own
life along with his
classmate's.
"His father, the model of
manliness, told him to stop
the only way he knew how to
express himself."
said the decrepit octogenarian
to his squat, plump nurse.
"Yes, Mr. Smith. You shouldn't
be watching that stuff...
it gets you all excited then
I have to come in here
and check your pulse,
and heart, and oxygen."
Would hate
to make you get up...
He thought.
"The anger can't be bottled
up forever. It will come out.
It could have come out
in a therapeutic and peaceful
way, but it came out in
a violent and brutal way."
"Yes, Mr. Smith, the world
is a terrible place."
"That's not what I said.
What stands between
a murderer and an Einstein
is the ability to express
oneself. This boy
was taught that his
expression was wrong, therefore
he was wrong."
"The youth are troubled."
"The youth are perfect.
They haven't had the weight
and burden of time ****** on them.
They are the only ones free
from the ******** story
we all buy of the way things
are. They can
express themselves and
change the world, but
we have to stop telling them
they're wrong."
"Oh of course Mr. Smith, the
children are our future..."
Stupid ***** she's not even
listening. She can't wait to
get back to her one
handed novel she's got
at the reception desk.
The man closed his eyes
and dreamed of what could be
if he were young again.
Jun 5, 2011
Jun 5, 2011 at 6:38 PM UTC
It positively affects my mood.
I become more independent of the society, I help people with their stuff and entertain them with my poems, stories, couplets, jokes, essays, songs & guitar.
I also take to first-hand social service whenever possible and I've also taught some underprivileged children & imparted elementary education to them.
I get my poetry ideas from this activity.
I think & feel differently about the world.
I look the others into their eyes with piercing confidence and I think you never had that confidence.
I feel stronger & more in control.
My appetite has greatly improved from being a poor eater in my childhood to a healthy eater in my adulthood.
My virility isn't affected at all and instead, I gain more stamina and manliness; my tool is strengthened.
My imagination power, IQ and hence smartness is also increased - believe me these have actually increased.
I cleared 9 & 10 examinations in my engineering degree two different times at one attempt each and my response time is greatly improved.
I become more confident.
My strength isn't reduced, but I go to the gym and I exercise as good as others.
My power & force are perfectly normal.
My eyes are shining bright, dark black in the middle of pure white.
I have never got any dark circles.
It takes me no more than 10 minutes to recover completely, it depends on the body about how it performs.
Over-use of anything - even oxygen as it oxidizes body & mind - is utterly harmful.
Quality has become thicker & brighter each day I exercise.
So keep hands on your tools than some ****** books blaspheming against the new-found rage.
Consult an expert instead of developing your own stories or believing the same old ****** stories.
Everything has a limit and within that limit, it is extremely enjoyable.
Just one last tip: Keep yourself humane with yourself & don't become a dumb & helpless addict to get embarrassed in front of your family one day.
Now if you feel that I'm spreading blasphemy & bad thoughts, you may please stop reading my poems instead of cursing me in vain.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
don't open your eyes
don't let it dissolve
smell the baking bread, bacon and eggs
feel the ache in your center from when he broke you off...
roll over in the covers
savor the scent of manliness mixed with cologne
open your eyes, breathe deep and smell nothing
let it all fade away cuz you're alone...
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 12:37 PM UTC
In a frenzy
of exultation,
I found my submissive
prostrating before your
dominance,
considering you a master
entwining under the spirals
of your manliness.
I feel that I should
sing the psalms of
your manhood
to dangle my soul
to your body and
your soul to mine
prairie of captivity
welcoming me via
an orifice of your
supremacy.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
It's one of those days.
One of those days
Where my mind punches
Everything I pass.
Where the thought of
Her not being anywhere near
Feels a little like the way I
Found it hard to breathe when
She wasn't, then. Only worse by a
World's width.
It's one of those days.
One of those days when the
Manliest of my
Innermost manliness wants to
Place its head on a chest,
Where naked ******* say nothing
Other than: *"Cry ahead, little boy.
All you are is welcome.
All I am
Is here."*
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
Do you see that girl? Hideous.
Her face is an abomination.
It's no wonder no one loves
that false replica of creation.
And that other one's a **********
you can tell by her low V
flaunting double D's
like a sign flashing "I'm ******
Now Ugly she's unlucky; to hook a boy
she needs a trap,
and Whore's got personality
but no one gives a crap.
Both are swimming desperately,
but waves are crashing endlessly.
And our tidal words that lacerate
drown them in a pool of hate.
You could of stopped it.
Was it worth it?
Mocking others to gain your status.
See that **** He's handsome: a body that all crave.
But he's into art and stylish dress
Rumor says he's gay.
That other boy's pathetic, weak
and never takes a stand.
Little birdy told me
he's missing proof that he's a man.
Now Stupid's got it all - the very hottest dates,
but for all his charm and manliness, no one calls him straight.
Loser's slowly speaking up,
proving he gives a ****
but all his pleas are over-looked as him on crack again.
Both are slowly burning,
flames licking at their heels,
and they let the hurt devour them
to stop the pain they feel.
You could have stopped it.
Was it worth it?
Mocking others to gain your status.
I've heard the spiteful rumors
that I'm deformed, somehow grotesque.
Standing at cliff's edge, I wonder
is it worth it?
Yes.
I'll take that step and free myself
from this world of misery.
All this time just waiting for your kindness that could save me.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
There is a transect from colour to colourless,
There is a traversing from sunup to sunset!
A track from vividness to lifelessness!
****
Morning brings colour to life
Birds sign and fly, hark back splendour of work,
Butterfly invigorate redden of existence
Existence of life in the doodle nature
Every one blossom for breathing!
****
But we are waiting for dusk
Becoming everything murky
Than eliminate nature from life
Carnage everything with our manliness
and swollen with pride!
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
I think that a Bar-B-Q is an extension of a guys manliness.
Or manhood.
Now before all of you start disagreeing with me,
listen to this blondes logic.
When a man goes to purchase a grill
There are many factors a man has to take into consideration.
And they are, in this order, as follow:
1. Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid
2. The size of the grill
3. Rotisserie?
4. Accessories
5. Bar-B-Q covers
Let us take each consideration in turn.
Propane vs. Charcoal and Charcoal Fluid.
Propane men:
Some men want instant gratification. Twist a **** or two, push a button here and instant heat. Give it a few minutes to build to the right temperature and BAM! In with the meat. Once done, turn a **** or two and walk away. No muss. No fuss.
Charcoal men:
Other men are more inclined to take their time. savor the experience. They enjoy watching the flames build and turn into a glowing bed of meat searing heat. When everything is just right, they gently place the meat. They stand gaurd over it. Tending to it. Every once in a while poking it to test if it's ready. These same men will sometimes sit snuggled around the glowing embers afterwards. Watching the heat fade and cool. Then they will ask their woman they had served "How'd you like your steak babe?"
Charcoal Fluid And Men:
Some men should never be allowed near a Bar-B-Q that requires something to stimulate the flames. It always ends in disaster and or injury.
Size Of The Bar-B-Q:
O.K. Now this is a touchy subject for most men. It has been known to cause envy, jealousy and has broken up a marriage or two. Men think bigger is better.
When buying a Bar-B-Q , a man thinks about; cooking area, the possible need for side burners, portability, and the all important factor of presentation. That's right. How will it look to the neighbors and guests? Will they be properly impressed with it? Also, can it handle the extra meat when company comes over? Heaven forbid it should let him down and make him look foolish.
Rotisserie:
This is an important decision. Does having your meat spin make it better? I think that this is more of an individual decision.
Accessories:
Now we have reached a critical point. How to accessorize. Of course, every man needs the right equipment to ensure success. And all of the tools need to have a long reach and be durable.
Tongs, fork, knife, spatula, basting brush.
Some men even splurge and go for a flavor injector. Now that's a man who cares about his meat.
Bar-B-Q Cover:
Finally we reach the last consideration a man has to make. To cover or not to cover?
Men! Always, with out fail, should cover. It is for their own protection. And it shows you care.
Thank you.
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 10:50 AM UTC
I remember the first time I laid eyes on him, that
emotive whirlwind within at the sight of him
I swooned inwardly, blinking...
overtaken by the moment, a radiance connected us;
his visage emanated strength beyond his brawny
physique and his handsomeness
our dawning...
love awakened at the sight of him; keeping bedroom eyes
mentally closed, but, longing to feel him against me
became a resting place in my heart
his eyes were so, tender, I wanted to finger trace his lips,
slowly, allowing him to taste the first breath of our moment
one moonlit night...
he approached, another swoon moment, I melted in his
arms as he whispered in the arch of sultry heat uncovering
the fabric of my being
love aroused...
and our essence melded; one breath...ours mingled,
became precious as wet stained kisses rained
upon upturned pout
taste of him left me adorned, in naked shadows of midnight,
love found; bound by blushed sighs, in demureness I lean
into manliness breathing shades of his love
lost...
in syllabic whispers, drenched in poetry of us, where want
dawdles at the door of need as desire entwines igniting our
flame and I melt between the folds of Him and I
evolving...
in the archway of love at first sight
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
*Its been written in the stars that I will be
Starstruck by your personality, and your
clenched fists
Supergiant of manliness that strikes soft
flesh, sparks bruises, causes pain.
Leave, people say, but I can't, love is a giant supernova.
Sparse is the love for me, infinite is the universe.
The stars I see now are not of distant galaxies though,
but rather the start of a concussion*
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
It's getting late
Why don't you want to be here
Beside me, for me to watch you
I need you
I want you
If you afraid... Don't be
If you afraid... Don't be
Don't be scared, I won't hurt you
Like he did... Twice babe.
I want you to like the method to my manliness
See I hope that you make an exception for my friendliness, because my tenderness is splendiferous
I am quite a gentlemen, however it do not stop my urge to dive deep into your sediments and kiss all over your floetry... Is that alright?
All you gotta do is say yes
Set aside your stress
Undress
Rest
Stretch
As I flex
And I caress
...Apex
We make a mess
I whisper, close to your year
"There's is only one for me, you have made that possibility"
So I don't mind taking that step to "sea"
Your wavy shore
Before I walk along it all you have to do is say yes
You sure?
Then you say "right there"
Followed by how I "make you so, so, so"
Open up your mind, because it's getting later
Don't deny if I'm making you wetter
It's almost late
You're here for a reason
Beside me
Watching me watch you
Knowing I'm needing you
Feeling me wanting you
I can see that you're afraid... Don't be
I can see that you're afraid... Don't be
Because I'm cautious about hurting you
Twice is more than enough
My method of manliness
Is the reason why we're breathless
Why do I question?
The clock?
Because my big hand and your little hand has attracted
After we latched it
We traded keys
Your trembling knees
My laughter
Is assurance
That I plan to be here happily after
Just say yes
And i'll be here until the morning
Then i'll be here for the excitement, and I'll be around when it's boring
Not only appearing when I'm *****
I can taste the lineage because your family is supportive of my decisions
It's really late
For you to be afraid
The lights is out
But trust that I'm right here
Wiping your tears
Afraid of losing you
We're both scared
For you it's being hurt twice
For me it's hurting a woman again
It's too late
You basically said yes
By wearing my shirt as your dress
By not denying your head to my chest
Your temple to my peck
You finally mumble I'm the best
And only thing I had left to say is "yes"
"You make me so, so , so ... "
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
I feel inadequate
in the department of manliness
in the sector of occupation
in the division of romance
in the office of sanity
I feel abundant
in the regiment of weakness
in the foundation of lazy
in the organization of loneliness
in the ministry of madness
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
i remember meeting you in the back of house, where your words were loose and wild. i was brining some guests plates in that needed to be cleaned after their meal. i got to talking with some coworker about some
bull **** coworkers talk about, probably complaining about some old lady who wanted truffle fries and only got regular fries. you had to chime in when there was a cadence with some ********** comment to display your manliness and status amongst your kitchen staff. that game always seemed counterproductive to me. you pinned me for someone i wasn't. i did the same to you. somehow along the way, between all your lewd remarks, we became friends. i believe it began over our affinity for the Buffalo Bills. You said you liked them because they were the underdogs and you hated the Miami Dolphins. I told you they were my hometown team and you said "no **** get the **** outa here. You're from Buffalo?" the way you said it lead me to assume you were from New York. You told me you were from upstate and missed it. I told you how much time my family spent up there in the summers, doing outdoorsy things. burning fires, drinking beer underage, walking barefoot through the forrest. we bonded. we learned a lot more about each other. you were divorced and knew that you could never love another woman as much as you loved your ex. she gave you two beautiful kids. she also took 3/4 of you paycheck and left you for broke. the rest you drank away with me when our shifts were over. you told me about your drug habits, and i told you about mine. i told you about my childhood and you said you were sorry. i helped you drive your kids to school when your ex wife was too busy. we got drunk and shot so much **** there was a chip on your shoulder. there was a chip on mine too. i got to see you cry when i accused you of using again. i think you knew what i said was true. i came down on you hard because i had just lost two jobs, a girlfriend i thought would have my children, and someone that lived in your apartment complex crashed into my brand new car while i was waiting on you. we were on the way to get your kids from school. you knew i meant well but i could see the guilt in your eyes. i helped you with your kids a handful of times after that. we would get breakfast after and talk about work and women. after work we'd get ****** and eat at some small Mexican stand in 90 degree weather. i fell asleep at the wheel and totaled my car some time later. shortly after i left for tour and then you died. some secrets you take to the grave. thank you.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 3:24 AM UTC
Shame befall a man
Whose eyes do no tear
Whose lips do not utter
A word of comfort
For his fellow brother
What use is such manliness?
What end does this bravado meet?
When at the end of the day
By swallowing his tears
He allows his life to be consumed by grief?
Away with manliness, then
That shallow, heartless monster
That one-eyed, judge of men
Who cannot look beyond the tears
To the heart that lies within
The heart that is brave
The heart that has the courage
To stand in his court and say
I will cry for I have been hurt
You may do unto me what you may!
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 4:57 PM UTC