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Steve Page Sep 2021
Unmanly
I need a freedom from cynicism
from male chauvinism
embracing a softer masculine
an absence of sexism
and an embrace of a different manly-ism
one seen through a more unmanly prism
a less than bearing the whole weight of the family
and more like living as a 'we' community
not necessarily a man that's handy
but one who is able to more gently
lead by an example that's differently
fully
compassionately,
unmanfully
me.
A different way.
#male #female #family
Continue reading...
Tiffany Newell Oct 2013
Happiness
It's 2 am
The television is quietly mocking me,
telling me I'm too large for my skin,
and providing a simple solution:
tiny capsules of hope, plagued with consequences.
Caution: may cause nausea, infertility, and (in some cases) death;
but isn't that a fair trade for a flat stomach?
The media consumes us:
"Slim is ****, you can be **** too!"
Girls get the message from early on that
what is most important is how they look;
not the poetry they speak
or the way they move their feet
but the size of their jeans.
Women in magazines and on TV portray an unrealistic ideal of what a woman should be.
They turn into objects.
And when we lose the fight for our humanity,
we lose the fight for equality.
Misogyny is bred through the over-sexualized photographs in magazines or on the TV screen,
but so is misandry.
Men are depicted as stolid creatures,
and boys grow up being told they should conceal their emotions,
but even the strongest walls crumble with time.
Chipping away slowly at the concrete until
a flood of passion or rage overwhelms them.
The emotional tyranny of masculinity is exhausting.
Boys' role models are fit, cocky, and brute:
He-man, Superman, Spiderman; and if you can't earn that label of "man" then what are you?

We have all been brainwashed.
Tainted to believe that the image of the ideal man or woman is what we should strive towards;
and no matter how tirelessly we scrub, the idea remains;
like the residue of a bumper sticker you used to believe in.
It is too late for us, but the future holds innumerable possibilities for a better world.
A world where women are not accused of provoking **** because of their short shorts and men are offended by the idea because it suggests that they are incapable of control.
A world where men aren't seen of as weak or unmanly because they express themselves emotionally outside of their bedrooms.
A world where despite your weight, gender, race, or ****** orientation you can pursue your happiness.
Continue reading...
Niranjana Chelur-The Hermit Oct 2012
Confessions of A Blessed Hedonist-part 1.
Confessions of a Blessed Hedonist.( tri word line)  
  -1-                                                    ­                -3-
Lived this long,                                                 what makes change?
Time just flew,                                                   a metamorphosis divine?
Mind playing games                                        worms to butterflies,
Heart desiring ever.                                           saviors, angels, messiahs?
extreme cravings doused.                                 what makes humane,
opiates in zillions,                                               friends, lovers, brothers?
Cocktails, a million.                                           Destinies unknown working,
Endless revelries futile,                                       in times unconscious,
Loves instant, genuine.                                       drunken slumbers dead,
Clean beds crumpled,                                         uncaring deeds cruel,
Checkouts late rewarded.                                   Unmanly acts shameful.
-2-                                                    ­                       -4-
Friends dear betrayed,                                         maybe one dream,
Away bartered loves.                                           among nightmares plenty,
Much monies made,                                            that one love-germ,
Abandoned ethics many.                                    under in-differences heaped,
Gods all rejected,                                                  faint glimmering self,
Except the Hedonistic!                                         beneath mountainous egos,
World enjoyed fully,                                             a sparkling life-sign,
Life wasted lovely.                                                 in cemeteries silent.
Morphing every second,                                       causes matter not,      
Into grandiose nothing,                                         by destiny’s graces,
Skeleton cynical final.                                           gratefully unscathed still.
Continue reading...
Danielle Thornton Jun 2013
Forgotten Words
Altered by the winds laced with a threnody tune,
life in the northern woods will never be the same without its bloom.
The deceased puppet master continues to pull the strings of the dehiscence heart,
one of this game is forced to take part.
The ears of an indecisive mind take in the plaintive sound,
which provides an ongoing reminder of how these feet are forever bound to this ground.
With the chances of escaping  this monochromatic box slims,
one might begin to take a swim.
The ideal way of living becomes a compromise,
the old personality leaves only the eyes.
Shed away in a abscission fashion,
and along with that goes all the passion.
Sitting down to confabulate with a higher knowledge,
carry  on the dreams of going to college.
Storybook barriers leave no saltant mood.
Being passed by society is quite rude.
A misnomer indeed,
being labeled wrong because of greed.
Hunger of such has taken a life,
of one upon a lake that was never a wife.
Letters that hold such wicked silence,
that can never be undone even with science.
This blue body surrounded by an invisible malediction,
or maybe that is all just fiction.
He has nothing left from his unmanly lies,
upon keeping secrets he thinks he is wise.
Knowing it all is never enough,
but with an abecedarian brain on might just call it a bluff.
Eventually farewells must be given without hate,
and one might hope to return as if all was in a somniferous state.
Continue reading...
Robert Browning
Epilogue To Asolando
At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time,
     When you set your fancies free,
Will they pass to where—by death, fools think, imprisoned—
Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so,
                    —Pity me?
Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!
     What had I on earth to do
With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?
Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel
                    —Being—who?

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,
     Never doubted clouds would break,
Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,
Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,
                    Sleep to wake.

No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-time
     Greet the unseen with a cheer!
Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,
“Strive and thrive!” cry, “Speed—fight on, fare ever
                    There as here!”
Continue reading...
Dylan Thomas
Foster The Light
Foster the light nor veil the manshaped moon,
Nor weather winds that blow not down the bone,
But strip the twelve-winded marrow from his circle;
Master the night nor serve the snowman's brain
That shapes each bushy item of the air
Into a polestar pointed on an icicle.

Murmur of spring nor crush the cockerel's eggs,
Nor hammer back a season in the figs,
But graft these four-fruited ridings on your country;
Farmer in time of frost the burning leagues,
By red-eyed orchards sow the seeds of snow,
In your young years the vegetable century.

And father all nor fail the fly-lord's acre,
Nor sprout on owl-seed like a goblin-sucker,
But rail with your wizard's ribs the heart-shaped planet;
Of mortal voices to the ninnies' choir,
High lord esquire, speak up the singing cloud,
And pluck a mandrake music from the marrowroot.

Roll unmanly over this turning tuft,
O ring of seas, nor sorrow as I shift
From all my mortal lovers with a starboard smile;
Nor when my love lies in the cross-***** drift
Naked among the bow-and-arrow birds
Shall you turn cockwise on a tufted axle.

Who gave these seas their colour in a shape,
Shaped my clayfellow, and the heaven's ark
In time at flood filled with his coloured doubles;
O who is glory in the shapeless maps,
Now make the world of me as I have made
A merry manshape of your walking circle.
Continue reading...
Del Maximo May 2010
An Old Man's Tears
Why do old men cry?
it's such an unmanly act
so we've all been told

"Boys don't cry", they say
"You're acting like a female"
"**** up", "Be a man"

boys do become men
they till good and evil soil
coping in the world

through all walks of life
anxiety sprouts like wheat
must prove their manhood

learn to make their way
to take care of their own selves
and share with others

they raise families
quality time, joy, heartache
see their children grow

just like all people
all men experience loss
life's equalizer

they face rejection
lose their jobs and livelihood
they go off to war

they watch loved ones die
parents, wives, children and friends
no one is immune

but real men don't cry
providers and protectors
with stiff upper lip

why do old men cry?
it took a lifetime to learn
they're only human
© January 25, 2009
Continue reading...
Lover of Words Oct 2012
Confessions from a Crush
So i, maybe, sorta,
like you?
Oh wait, you didn't hear that,
I mean…
Unless you feel the same…
But that could be irrelevant,
I mean what would that matter.
Do you?
I mean, like share the same sorta bubbles I got going on,
Like for me,
My heart sorta goes a flutter,
And I can't help the palpitations and the eruptions you've been causing within my little drum,
Is it just a crush?
Or could it be at all love?
Whatever the hell that is…
But come on,
Dear…
I've never called anyone that,
Is that weird?
Or am I mad,
I just look at you, and my brain goes insane, craving you without caution, or thoughts of the repercussions that I ever wanted you to be mine,
I mean maybe you never will be mine,
Not that I mean to possess you of course,
But I wanna hug you, and look at you every day and call you pretty,
Ugh…what's going on here?
I mean I never have ever wanted to do that to anyone…
Once again a thought of you comes up, and I cannot suppress that thought,
I encourage it,
I enjoy it,
A thought of you makes me smile uncontrollably,
I don't know if that makes me unmanly, or anything, but for some reason I don't give a ****,
Unless you do of course…
Continue reading...
Allania Berkey Jan 2014
wolf
Take my heart and ******* shred it like paper.
It hurts a lot less, then your unkindful ways.
Your eyes they've lied.
Your heart, black.
Your hands, dirt.
Undelicate, unmanly.
A evil wolf in the crowd of many.
His voices stands against the rest,
Limelight is pure,
His words, power.
My heart trampled, my body delicate,
Like a flower in spring.
Your hands they lie of sin, just like the poker face you hold.
Flush,
I call bluff.
My eyes saw gold,
And purity in a lost wolf.
Amorous souls get tricked into loving fools.
You lying non-caring **** of **** that I always say the best in.
Continue reading...
Abraham Jan 2021
Ode to Mask
I used to get very annoyed with my mask
each day I’d implore, “Is it too much to ask -
that my glasses don’t steam up when I walk in a shop
or to not have to swallow down buckets of snot?”
But lately my viewpoint has started to waiver
as I discover new uses for this multi-lifesaver
like wiping the grit from my spectacle lenses
or warming my beard when I’m out mending fences.

Then there are subtler means of employ
(I’m not talking about some ***** *** toy)
where this sliver of material,
though appearing unmanly,
has proven itself surprisingly handy.
Only last week, on a long evening walk
I crept into a church round the back of Earls Court
and sat down to the tones of an ***** concerto
that whirled within me like Dante’s Inferno.
Out of the blue I began to cry
emotions stuffed deep inside reached for the sky,
streams gushed forth from each quivering eye lid
I’d not wept so fiercely since being a kid
yet though it did not cover the whole of my face
with my mask pulled high I was
at least,
saved some disgrace.

When this is all over (I promise it will)
hold a thought for how
your mask did fulfill
so many functions,
besides helping you survive
and perhaps carry one in your pocket
to keep the memory alive.
#masks #pandemic #covid19 #appreciation #gratitude #privacy #vulnerability
Continue reading...
Natalia Oct 2015
Unmanly
Helpless of finding you again, you have fallen. Fallen into the deep mist of her. Your eyes so taken under the spell that I once gave you. You fall every season for another. I'm disgusted I thought you were stronger than that. I see you weak and uncertain . A man I used to admire I now pitty. I was so blind. You were not the person I thought you were. And what's so interesting is that I didnt start to grow discusted by your infidelity but by how you can't bare the thought of being independent, you can't bare the thought of being alone, you rely on company. And at that moment I realized that we definitely wasn't meant to be.
Continue reading...
Oculi Oct 2019
Swan Song
While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The black tar envelops my unmanly sigh
A cigarette in the moon's light with a stranger
And the howling of an unsightly beast

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The fog obscures everything in sight
I'm questioning the night sky on its numbers
The forest looks in disgust and curiosity

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
I'm bleeding out, I'm bleeding out
While plucking feathers, my ear drum pops
I say my goodbye and flap my bare wings

An ornate door leads to the mausoleum
A huge crack showing the entrance of grave robbers
The youths wander inside to belittle their ancestors
And my ballad softly floats above the ground

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The young man rests near his anvil
Opening his book of poetry on an empty page
Only to find the blood of the martyr seeping

While plucking my feathers
Will the youth remember my name?
Will I be forgotten as a nameless man?
Or will I be the poet of the next century?

Pluck my feathers or don't!
Pluck my feathers or don't!
Pluck my feathers or don't!

But do not forget me and the steps which I took
Do not forget my babbling, my bish and my bosch
Do not forget my gifts, you, receiver of blessing
Pluck them rhythmically, slave, rhythmically

My feather falls, slowly to the ground
It is the last of its kind
And as my breaths draw to a close
The children laugh gleefully
Unknowing the end is near
Extinction on my name once and for all
Pluck my feathers no more, slave,
I've just blood to give.
Ars poetica.
#bird #music #experimental #freeform #slavery #freedom #politics #religion
Continue reading...
Mikaila Sep 2013
Heart *****
Did I give you what you needed?
Did I make you realize
Just how to appreciate his
Casual
Love?
Did I do my
Job
And rekindle something
You had begun momentarily to doubt?
I am here for you.
I wear the face you paint on me
Over my own.
I show you how you can be adored
Until you've had enough, and are finished-
(much the way you eat dessert until you have had your fill
And then push away the plate- finished)
Don't worry,
Darling,
Once you've touched my cheek,
Once I've kissed your palms,
And given you your entertainment,
And you've paid me in smiles
I stop
Like a toy with the batteries removed.
Don't you worry.
Don't you know that
When you're not looking at me
I go dark
Like a lamp switched off
Because why should it draw
Power
When its services are no longer required?
Take me out of the closet
Like a little secret pleasure,
There
Only when you remember to want it,
Gone conveniently and completely when you are done.
Hold me up to every part of your soul
That needs validation and attention;
I am
Disposable.
Rechargeable,
But unnecessary.
Call me up
Like a call girl
In the filthy little hours of the night
Black grime smiting the stars from the sky.
Make me something vile,
A beauty wanted for its veneer,
A nice diamond necklace
Coveted but left to gather dust between velvet once owned,
(too gauche for proper company)
Take a drag from my lips
Like a cigarette
That you may at any moment
Extinguish
And toss,
Still sizzling,
Into the river
Or crush delicately beneath your foot.
And when I've given you
My uninhibited self
And freed a tiny part of you that
You sometimes indulge just to keep it quiet otherwise,
Cut me a check for my services
With your razorblade lips,
And go back to the arms
Of your ordinary
(correct upstanding respectable daylight)
Life.
Go back to the sunlight rituals
The ones you can chat with your friends about
With no shame, never ostracized.
The life that lets you connect to the
Right
Sort:
The normal people,
Who never leave any feeling untidy or exposed.
Did I satisfy a craving
Like a candy bar
Or a quick ****
That leave no evidence but wrappers
And relief?
Was I my
Best?
Was my best
Even mine?
Or was it expected,
Expected like you know your faucet
Will slake your thirst with water,
Like you expect your car
To start each morning?
Was it that given,
Was it that prosaic?
It's what I'm for!-
Passion.

Use me like a lipstick
That can always be washed off
Down the drain
So that it won't paint his lips
Unmanly
When you consume them.

Use me for what I'm for.
Oh, never fear consequences-
Don't you know that
I
Cease to exist
Once you are done with me?

You looked into me like a mirror
And saw only yourself.
Continue reading...
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Reflections
Reflections
I lie placid silent and calm your great winsomeness reaches over me not disturbing in the least you add a
texture that is signature peace when caos ripples in the wider waters I know soft shadows speaking
revealing a clarity upon this mirrored glass of my soul you are as light as a breath speaking in a whisper
as the night follows day you reveal your self flawless is the transition from light to darkness you are the
sum total of many voices in diversity much is added the common theme harmoninous interchange
where there is lack then you add the needed part without fanfare this is what makes value as golden
moments increase significance the volume of spirit pours in and the soul rises out of view submerged
ideas latent with good will tells the story in deeper depths where shallow and empty realities find
a residing place now they are displaced as added instruments inrich musical pieces giving more depth
and feeling the empty darkness catches these delightful strains a soothing wave seems to fill the broken
spaces moonlight medicates with a silver substance brings euphoric doses as if disimbodied goodness
waves a magic wand you rise and drift on unseen wings a playfulness enters the heart you know not
from where but from borders of tranquil regions the flow emblematic dreams stream ubidden into the
mind the glory yet tasted is somehow permeating our stiff halted lives freedom brought from
inexaustable climes measureless helps will be as the tide if we will close ourselves from distractions that
are plentiful and short circuit our whole beings be still and know That I am God the human cry is what
shall I do in those golden yesterdays they put out rain barrels when they wanted soft water how much
more should we be catching the soft water falling from heaven to counteract the hard and at times
brutal actions that we unleash on one another tears and weeping are not unmanly they are the secret
guides that allow us to behold ourselves and then with power that restrains outward mindless acts that
hurt and offend gentle sense created by comfort from an indisputable place of well being you hold the
higher ground your decisions are true and correct and from placid to unerring truth you divide and map
a true and correct path
Continue reading...
GingerHound Apr 2019
non-binary in a binary world
Sometimes I don't belong.
"10 things all women do",
screams the headline
Not me, I think, scrolling along.
"every man should try this", demands the caption.
And I just sit here thinking, not for me.
Do they even understand a fraction
Of what it's like to be
Here, in the middle, in between?
"just another queer millenial"
Is that what they see?
Can it really be that they reduce me
To that? Because I know
That I am so much more
But still, this is a blow
That strikes hard
And it hurts.
Am I allowed to cry?
Under which of society's odd rules should I
Handle my feelings about this?
Because men, as it is,
Are unmanly when they let tears flow.
Women, however, are expected to do so.
Now what do I do?
I could lose myself in thinking this through
Over and over again.
My circling thoughts never come to a halt.
There's just this one thing I know:
It is not my fault
That I can't seem to fit in.
That's the way it has always been.
One gets used to it, you know?
Just keep fighting and grow
up to be who you want to be.
#nonbinary #transgender #expectations
Continue reading...
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
Reflections
Reflections
I lie placid silent and calm your great winsomeness reaches over me not disturbing in the least you add a
texture that is signature peace when caos ripples in the wider waters I know soft shadows speaking
revealing a clarity upon this mirrored glass of my soul you are as light as a breath speaking in a whisper
as the night follows day you reveal your self flawless is the transition from light to darkness you are the
sum total of many voices in diversity much is added the common theme harmoninous interchange
where there is lack then you add the needed part without fanfare this is what makes value as golden
moments increase significance the volume of spirit pours in and the soul rises out of view submerged
ideas latent with good will tells the story in deeper depths where shallow and empty realities find
a residing place now they are displaced as added instruments inrich musical pieces giving more depth
and feeling the empty darkness catches these delightful strains a soothing wave seems to fill the broken
spaces moonlight medicates with a silver substance brings euphoric doses as if disimbodied goodness
waves a magic wand you rise and drift on unseen wings a playfulness enters the heart you know not
from where but from borders of tranquil regions the flow emblematic dreams stream ubidden into the
mind the glory yet tasted is somehow permeating our stiff halted lives freedom brought from
inexaustable climes measureless helps will be as the tide if we will close ourselves from distractions that
are plentiful and short circuit our whole beings be still and know That I am God the human cry is what
shall I do in those golden yesterdays they put out rain barrels when they wanted soft water how much
more should we be catching the soft water falling from heaven to counteract the hard and at times
brutal actions that we unleash on one another tears and weeping are not unmanly they are the secret
guides that allow us to behold ourselves and then with power that restrains outward mindless acts that
hurt and offend gentle sense created by comfort from an indisputable place of well being you hold the
higher ground your decisions are true and correct and from placid to unerring truth you divide and map
a true and correct path
Continue reading...
Rachel Thompson Apr 2012
Paradise Lost
Adam was sitting
in the blue recliner—
his eyes, glazed donuts
of dissatisfaction—he
held a beer in his hands,
and he wept.

Was your fall
cruelest to you,
because you knew
perfection and true
happiness—or am I
the worse off, because
I can’t know what to
aspire for—what to
want?

Your crying is
not unmanly—you
have seen your sons
**** each other—
witnessed hate in those
you raised with love.

And Eve, your
blessed Eve, she’s in
the kitchen with an
apron on—she doesn’t
smile at you the way
she used to anymore.

You can’t trust her
like you once did,
since ember innocence
died out, but you still
love her.

How it hurt you,
Adam, to witness
her anguish—first
in childbirth then
at child’s death—
Eve used to think
she was beautiful, but
now all she sees is
stretch marks and wrinkles.

Still, Eve is the
only one who
knows your pain
of loss—she comes
up to hold your hand,
and a tear leaves her
eye—she misses Eden
too.
Reading Milton for class: this was a byproduct.
Continue reading...
Pradip Chattopadhyay Jun 2014
You don't remind me
bloodstains on my hands say
countless times have wounded her
yet she loves me to this day
weeps on my shoulder!*

You don't remind me woman
each time I stroke your hair
of the times I act a hurting man
of all the times I've been unfair.

Rather you hide all past scars
cover up my stinging bite
pretend things could be worse
thank god it turned all right.

You don't remind me woman
when I hug you tight
of the times I act a hurting man
bare to you unmanly might.

Rather you hide the flicker of pain
smile away my sins of past
pretend things would be same again
thank god in me you trust.
Continue reading...
Jacob Steiner Jul 2014
Oww
I just put new contacts in so it makes it look like i was crying but i swear its just the contacts. i don't even like crying anyways, and its not that its unmanly cause thats ******* ******* I've seen some of the toughest moherfuckers in the world break down and sob so if you say its not okay for guys to go **** yourself with a cactus because thats like saying its not okay to express feelings and emotions and i used to think that and i know how wrong i was. But besides all that crying *****. like really it is worse than stubbing your toe and splitting the toenail. id much rather be happy and smiling but hey life is life and i cant change how others react and that doesnt make sense im sorry. goodbye thanks to anyone who actually read this.
this started out as me saying my contacts hurt my eyes but it turned into some rant about how it is okay for guys to cry and how it *****.
Continue reading...
jeffrey conyers Aug 2012
Home Is Where the Heart Is
Home sweet home.
We often have heard.
Like, home is where the heart is?
Which many has proclaimed.

As a child we might not comprehend this.
But as you get older.
These are the memories you miss.
As a child.
You remember your little tricks.
Which couldn't fool mom or da.
Because they were ahead of the game.

We all have heard from them.
Been there.
Done that.
Still we try again.

Oh, yes.
Home is where the heart is.
Even with a pup.
Who reminds you of many kids?
They play themselves out.
Only to fall asleep.

Just kissing your mom.
This affection last forever.
We sometimes grow older.
And have to think should we kiss dad.

Many think its unmanly.
But playing sports or even fishing too.
Or anything special of interest.
Leaves a strong impression to you..

It might be his colgne.
And with mom her perfume.
These are happy memories.
That stays forever with you.
Cause, home is where is your heart is.

Recollection for some.
Brings on sad memories.
Except in my case.
Mine has been good to me.

Like their pretense that Santa's came.
And they played alone.
Adults sometimes realize.
We spot check this one day.
When we catch them setting up many things.

Rushing us to sleep.
Gets them caught more.
Because many of us are sneaky enough.
To be the assistant to Detective Columbo.

Still, home is where your heart is.
And all my memories will forever be apart of me.

Rising up for church.
When dad refused to go.
That was just one thing.
That dad didn't play along.
It was bad enough that he didn't attend.

I guess to keep mom calm.
Dad knew when to step in.
Soon, I was dressed up.
To attend any church event.

And when you think about it.
There's nothing wrong with worshipping Jesus.
Which stays apart of you for life.

Just like being a child praying upon you knees at night.
Continue reading...
Jordan Frances Nov 2014
One in Eight
One in eight boys will be sexually assaulted this year
One in eight of our brothers, coworkers, fathers, boyfriends
One in eight will be told "men don't get *****"
One in eight will be feel their masculinity being stripped from them
One in eight feel as attached to it as their muscle is to bone
One in eight never expected this to happen
One in eight will unjustly be told to question their sexuality
One in eight will hold it against themselves
Their shame is a blanket
One in eight are told they are defenseless
Eight in eight have experienced overly sexualized culture
In which they are told they must be strong, bold, *****
All the time
Eight in eight are told lies about their own bodies
About their own minds
Eight in eight are expected by the media
To be promiscuous and want *** all the time
So when that one in eight experiences unwanted touching, kissing, fill in the blank
They feel weak
They feel defenseless
They feel "unmanly"
To my brothers who have been sexually assaulted
You are not weak
You are not merely a statistic
And you are not alone.
Continue reading...
John Ashton Upston Apr 2015
I may always love you
I awkwardly said,
I want to share my poems aloud,
At this place, underground.
I'd like it if you came.

No reply.

I anxiously mentioned,
Some of them will have you in them,
I'd like it if you came and heard,
What I had to say.

No reply.

A few days later, you talk to me, randomly.
I mention I want to see you.
I've had a bad day.

What's been bad, you say?

My job isn't working out and
my car situation is all ****** up,
and my family is ****** up too.

You don't have your car anymore?

No, family needed it more than I.
And I want to save some down before I get mine.
I say.
Emptily. Thinking. No big deal.
This is smart. This is what people do.

But you never replied.
Not once when I needed you the most.

Looking back I'm frustrated.
I cared an awful lot.
And because I did I shared myself instead of
Partaking in you. And I think at a point it became so...
needy. So frustrating. So unmanly in your eyes, that
combined with some ****** dysfunction,
we just died on the vine. Black, withered, and disgusting.
So even though we remembered being green it just,
could not go back that way. And the irony was if I had
just ever figured out how to be nonchalant,
and not care so ever ******* much,
then, chances are, you'd have been my lady.
Life is weird. People... relationships... I don't know.
It's a cruel joke sometimes. Ain't a poem for you anymore.
You never really wanted.... that. I don't know what you want but,
It isn't me. Not anymore.

My sister said, **** that *****.
I smiled wryly and thought,
Once, but nevermore.

I think in the dark times of the night.
Even when the sky is bright,
Perhaps in a few years, when we are older...
I think with fear of a primal sort.
I have a girl that I love,
who I adore, and who doesn't necessarily mistreat me,
who keeps me though I'm an *******, and will take me
rich or poor but...
If you ever became someone who would come
and listen to my poetry
and hear what I have to say to you,
and cared, a little bit, sincerely,
and ever found me in your heart, truly, again...
What would I do?
I don't know but disgustingly,
I may always love you.
Continue reading...
Joe Cole Nov 2014
I Was There
Yes, I was there
Because like many of you
I have been there
Charging into shot and shell
The stench of blood and **** permeates the air
Do you really think death is so quick and clean?
No,  no , hold your mate while he's crying for his mum
Pick up the mangled guts while you tell him it's OK
Yes. Cry for him today for its not an unmanly thing to cry
For when tomorrows battle joins
It might be my time to die
Continue reading...
Simon Monahan Dec 2017
Puer Tristis
In memory’s unobserved corner there hides a small boy
So tired of sorrow he no longer cared even for joy.
With a wounded child’s wisdom he thought it to be prudent
To take Mister Spock and make himself the Vulcan’s student
Not because Spock was very stylish or outwardly cool
(Though he was cool); but rather, tired of feeling like a fool
He set out to tread this path, the unsmiling Vulcan way
He sought to do what Spock would do, to say what Spock would say.
He made his mask the untrembling visage, sans all motion,
Took for his own that grave face ungoverned by emotion,
Because even if it felt like interiorly dying
This inhuman discipline must beat unmanly crying
For a Vulcan’s arched eyebrows and a Vulcan’s pointed ears
Were worth the trade considering the dearth of Vulcan tears.
#childhood #sadness
Continue reading...
matthew scott harris Oct 2017
OKAY? WHAT FIEND STOLE THY BODY ELECTRIC!?
thine distorted reflection rippled
within rain maker's pool upon a midnight clear
full moonlight flooded shallow abyss,
cleaved fractal structures of silence
reverberating deathly hallow from 'ere
to infinity, whence magic wand
whipped out from whereabouts unknown

wove enchanting spell atop me shades
at more'n fifty gray hair
to fore, awakened from drunken stupor,
whence sober self
saw repulsive trouper fluid dynamic image jeer
at *** bellied, dead panned,
and ad libbed the mere
ore image lam bent, mutilated spindled
various aspects of myself a paired

which, aghast at such creepy distortion i didst rear
like a bucking bronco unclear
how this horrid, jagged, limned paragon did wear
a grotesque from heart of darkness – maybe Zaire
or Zulu-land, this soaked silhouette half bare
from the waist to head showed unmanly
sagging overly engorged *******
plus right and left elephant sized ear
egad, THAT CANNOT BE ME,

yet upon performing self exam a glare
ring outburst ensued,
cuz thy once bronzed handsome physique
grist for a Joker to jeer
and fodder made for television series created,
directed, and executed by Norman Lear
which role might be temporary for Halloween, but near
lee every SINGLE day and night,
thy aged dusk fraught hominid ******,
leaped, pooh poohed I ham ill prepared

to accept, roistering, rollicking,
rueing this Frankenstein scarred
complex deplorable edifice able,
ready, and willing to be tarred
rather than evince flabbiness,
gruesome homeliness, instance

when no objection would arise

to live out the remaining days of this life
as the world wide web turns, spins, rattles...
and voluntarily sign myself into a stew ward
with (at minimum ), a ghoulish, gnarly,
gummy self activated door
leading to a privet hedge row trimmed
topiary resplendent yard
cuz every cotton pickin, friggin,
fingerhut lickin portal iz barred
dated Friday the thirteenth with **** face on that card!
#fogey #old #sage
Continue reading...
Grace Oct 2018
sweet little boy
sweet
little
boy,
who doesn't know
the tears he cries
are
"unmanly"
#feminism #toxicmasculinity #sorrow
Continue reading...
jeffrey robin Oct 2015
// +++=== )>....... hey
.


what's up ?



Did ya do anything       useful.      Today ?


••

You know

....

Brought people unto    Clarity

spread        Love      &      Compassion


Thruout the whole world !

••

She sat drinking at the bar

Hoping to get picked up

And hoping that it all wouldn't end

In **** or a beating

//

She thought :

Maybe I should just go home

But then she felt the dread

Of lonliness start to eat her up

And she quickly thought :

Oh

What the hell

:::

The ***** looked out into

The street and thought :

What would  it all look like if I wasn't a *****

But then realized that to think this way was unmanly

And that he was real

And where HE was

Was reality

;;;

What we all really are.          !?!?!?!?!

god!

Why don't we just live that way ?

||__[|
optional
"""""""

(.   YA *******  !! )

Optional
||-------||

//

To be

AFRAID TO BE YOURSELF

is a mask covering some REAL FEAR !

//////

If you feel FEAR

there is DANGER

)(

The little girl

On the fire escape

Looks out at the world

And sees only beauty

Mingled with fear

Because the reality is

Beauty mingled with fear

•

•

so

I go forth

Knight of the 1000 Heart - beat song

Child of the one true family

Guardian gardener

Raising sacred children
To be known anywhere

Water itself

//

Yeah

There's lots to do round here
Continue reading...
Agrima Apr 2020
We Sell Pain In My City
We sell pain in my city.
In every street, you will find me.
Not someone like me, you will find me.
Pain under the eyes.
Pain under every roof.
There is always a veil between you and the person you meet in my city.  
It’s a veil of pain which we all hide here.
We wear it like a mask, it covers us like a sin, and we all look guilty.
Yes, we sell pain in my city.
There is anger in the veins of young boys of my city. There is dejection in the old.
There is slavery among the women.
There is dominance in our men.
We sell pain in my city and we are the only ones who buy it.
We sell it in every household. We sell it on the streets. We throw it into our water.
We breathe the air along with it.
We still take refuge in the arms of those who have never intended to safeguard us.
We know their intentions but we lack other options. We fall for those who wouldn’t look back once they have travelled too far.
We keep coming back to the same houses that we could never make homes.
We do not love anyone here.
We do not know what love is.
We trade the sorrows of our yesterdays, hoping we could have a plate of food for today. Nobody cries here.
We call it a waste of time.
We call it unmanly.
Our hearts are torn out, worn out, bitter and dark yet the women of my city won’t complain even after being prey to my city’s men every night.
We think we don’t have time for a that sort of conversation.
Mothers feed their children with tears and jokes here. Crying can make you forget you’re hungry so can a laugh.
We’re all hoping it goes on for long.
We sell pain in my city.
Would you please borrow a little?
#pain #sorrow #poverty
Continue reading...
matthew scott harris Jul 2018
OKAY? WHAT FIEND STOLE THY BODY ELECTRIC!?
Thine distorted reflection rippled
within rain maker's pool
   upon a midnight clear
full moonlight sonata
   flooded shallow abyss,
cleaved fractal structures of silence
reverberating deathly hallow from 'ere
to infinity, whence magic wand
whipped out from
   whereabouts unknown

wove disenchanting spell
   atop me shaded noggin more'n
   fifty ruffle lake  suns
   Dorian Gray pictured here
to fore, awakened
   from drunken stupor,
whence sober self

saw repulsive trouper
   fluid dynamic image jeer
at *** bellied, dead panned,
and ad libbed the mere
ore image lam bent,
   mutilated spindled
various horrid aspects of
   myself nine inch
   rusty nails impaired

which, aghast at such
   creepy distortion i didst rear
like a bucking bronco unclear
how this horrid, jagged,
   limned paragon did wear
a grotesque disfigured Joeseph Conrad
   lost within heart of darkness – maybe Zaire

or Zulu-land, this
   soaked silhouette half bare
from waist to head showed unmanly
sagging overly engorged *******
plus right and left elephant sized ear
egad, THAT CANNOT BE ME,

yet upon performing
   self exam a glare
ring outburst ensued,
cuz thy once
   bronzed handsome physique
now grist for a Joker to jeer
and fodder made
   for television series created,
directed, and executed by Norman Lear
which role might be
   temporary for Halloween, but near
lee every SINGLE day and night,
thy aged dusk fraught hominid ******,
leaped, pooh poohed I ham ill prepared

to accept, roistering, rollicking,
rueing this Frankenstein scarred
complex deplorable edifice able,
ready, and willing to be tarred
rather than evince flabbiness,
gruesome homeliness, instance

when no objection would arise
to live out the remaining days of this life
as the world wide web turns, spins, rattles...
and voluntarily sign myself into a stew ward
with (at minimum ), a ghoulish, gnarly,
gummy self activated door

leading to privet hedge row trimmed
topiary resplendent yard
cuz every cotton pickin, friggin,
fingerhut lickin portal iz barred
dated Friday the thirteenth
   with **** face on that card!
#the #ravages #of #aging
Continue reading...

— The End —