Hypermasculinity is a Joke
For all the boys and men who feel pressured to be someone they’re not.
My old rosy sneakers hang in my closet
untouched, still looking brand new.
My weights reside in there,
and I’ve also never touched them.
Swept under my rug are my fears and tears,
both unshed and locked away like money in a safe.
I lie on my bed and play the rewinding tape in my head:
my harsh words spill out of my mouth, portraying me
as some evil clone, as some villain in a story.
But I’m not a villain.
This feeling is a pain, an ache, a sore in my stomach.
My guilt prods and pokes at me, its rod causing me to harbor this agony.
This isn’t me.
That boy who rejects femininity? That’s not me.
That boy who shames women for their masculinity? That is definitely not me.
That person is not me and that it will never be me.
These chains are no longer holding me down
and that is a fact.