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April 26, 2020

This Is For the Men

I could write a million poems,

Full of shiny diamonds of hope,
That the male heart is not dead,
That emotional intelligence
And a deeply rooted, thriving heart,
Can accompany a penis owner,

I could acquire a million followers
Desperate for an ocean of love,
Aching to be met in the celestial realms,
Where their hearts long to dance,
Convincing them that great men exist,
And we can be found.

The reality is that these men are rare.
The reality is that we are mostly broken
The reality is that none of those words,
Will mend the tattered,
And atrophied heart,
Of one single man.

The reality is that most men
Do not read fucking poetry,
And especially not the ones
Who need it most.
But I’ll be damned,
If I don’t make an effort.


This is for the men,
Who never had a male role model,
To teach them how to be in this world.
So they let their peers and pop culture
Shape them and mold them into monsters.

This is for the men,
Who were never affirmed as men,
By their fathers and leaders,
So they found their own affirmation,
In fucking and financial success,
But it still left them empty inside.

This is for the men,
Who spend every minute of every day,
Carrying around a heavy suit of armor,
To hide their internalized fear and shame,
Of not ever being good enough,
Because no one ever told them they were.

This is for the men,
Who wield swords and axes,
To ward off any and all
Advances on their hearts;
Hearts that can’t remember
What it is to feel.

This is for the men,
Who long for intimacy and connection,
But were stripped of the tools
Needed to foster it,
So they fuck
And fight
And flee.

This is for the men,
Who feel isolated and alone,
Who have a little boy locked inside,
Still striving to be loved;
Who spend every waking hour
Distracting from seeing him crying inside.

This is for the men,
Who carry a plethora of pain within,
With no acceptable space to express it,
So it erupts onto those they try to love,
And they get branded as toxic,
In a world that offers them little alternative.

This is for the men,
Desperate for help,
But aren’t allowed to need it.
Who need directions,
But aren’t allowed to ask for them.
Who need an instruction manual,
In a language they can understand.

I fucking love you guys.
We are a destructive,
Disconnected mess.
But we are not irredeemable.

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Jonathan Sherlock  |  Contribution: 1,405