I was raised in my father’s ill-timed
old ways: as a man saying how he feels,
was like ash in his ashtray. And I had
smoked up a few reasons of not finding
certainty; but instead finding answers in
all addictions as a troubled youth.
I remember looking for a quick fix,
like a constant broken clock—
without a lot of time.
As it felt better not to admit to why I
was crying secretly at night, and instead
going around faking all of my smiles.
As I never once felt like I could fit an
ounce of myself in my family, and
sometimes the thought of being a
mistake would be a thought I’d accept
so gladly.
“I’ve been a fool, I’ve been a ******,
I’ve been an idiot, I’ve been a coward,
and I’ve been less than a good friend,
Feeling less of myself most times, in
saying I don’t amount to anything”—
were all of the things plaguing my head.
I’ve been so sick of love,
pretending to have known it as much
And to my luck, I’ve been unlucky enough
to know the way I lived felt like a vortex,
cos it always ******.
Sprung out on how I forced my appearance,
sitting on bottled emotions, ignoring
how I’m really feeling— all thought
to show a man in their great zealous.
Such a lie it was; and a door to the
knowledge of depression, that I tried to
hide so well, with years of experience.
Cause I was taught,
“real men don’t show their feelings”
Still what are these feelings, I’m feeling?
Feeling sad, depressed, a mess,
who can’t confess that sometimes
he's a mess and not always at his best.
Still, self-perfection isn’t what the
whole world expects. And unless this
boy chooses not to digress from tackling
the feelings that have him compressed; that
boy will only be a boy who still sits in their
mother’s nest.
Cos no bird will truly soar where it rests—
so would I; never be a man in this crazy
world, by just covering up all of my sores
in my heart with a bulletproof vest. I
already swallowed up those bullets; choking
up on all of the words of, not saying
what’s beating at my chest.
Today, today marks the day,
I threw out that **** ashtray.
Cos the ash in that tray, made me feel
like, the *** of the day. And I refuse to
do the donkey-work, of pretending that
I’m always okay.
No, I'm not okay, because I’ve spent
my life being burnt by the scorching
ash, in that old ashtray.
It’s time for healing.
