Poetry

104.

Never have I ever
wanted to burst a man’s face upon a jagged rock
until today,
and I am still reeling a little
from my urge to destroy.
I took a two-hour map
(in the middle of my remote work day)
to decompress,
and I still want to press
this individual’s soul
against a blazing flame
until he feels the weight of his idiocy.
I am overly harsh, of course;
this man is not an idiot,
but he is unfeeling
in the sense that he wears his masculinity
like a shoddy suit of armor.
It is riddled with holes
and it does not serve any proper or pure purpose
other than to distract him from genuine emotions.
I am biased; I wear my heart on my sleeve most days.
I did not have a good day today.
I do not enjoy trying to make peace with someone who wishes to steamroll me.
I have no problem with masculine men,
if they choose to be that way.
When the need to be macho
and “not give a shit”
overrides any real conversation, however,
I don’t like it.
I don’t like how most men talk.
I don’t like how I’ve been talking, these days.
I need to remember calm.
I need to remember peace.
A gentle pool of water
that rises to meet the wind,
this,
this is what I want to be.

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