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Be a Man

Digging up old stuff is fun. I actually can't bring myself to watch this video anymore, for numerous reasons, but in reading the poem, I found it to be a healthy reminder of how far I come since my near-suicide. This was the second or third week of full-lockdown in 2020. 20 fucking 20. Big thank you to Matthew Corozine for pushing me to explore writing more poetry.

Video below. Enjoy.

Being a man

That’s open to interpretation, a term, a myth

That has taken on a different meaning

Through many chapters in my life

When I graduated High School, 9/11 happened

When I moved to Manhattan, Sandy happened

When moved in with my girl, Covid happened

My big move landmark life moments

Are coupled with National Emergency

It reminds me that my actions have consequences

I looked up to some stupid men when I was a kid

They loved to teach me

About what it is to be a man

Guns, fighting, amendments, America, drinking, swearing, womanizing, hockey, fucking, spitting, bleeding, catcalling, working, dirty hands, combativeness, ball busting, ball scratching, burping, belching, booing, barbecuing, balling, brawling, bowling, farting (okay I do enjoy that), porno, steak, hunting, golfing, kneeling at the cross, standing for the flag, not talking about feelings, not backing down, not taking shit, not touching another man’s radio, taking life by the balls, grabbing her by the pussy…

I swear to God, whenever I think I know what it is to be a man

I am proven wrong

By myself

When I learned that I was appealing to women

I became an inconsiderate fuckboy

When I learned sticking up for myself felt great

I became an explosive bully

When I called the suicide hotline…

I became a man

I surrendered

I hung up the jersey

Of the life I spent

Blaming myself for being punished

For not living up to those standards

I shared

I listened

I was saved

I am alive

I take myself on dates. I order dessert. I draw. I play poker. I cook. I sing. I dance. I root for the fucking Mets. I teach. I lead. I inspire. I decorate my apartment. I ask for space. I cry. I still fart. I journal every day. I don’t feel guilty after I masturbate. I wake up every morning. I wake up every morning. I wake up every morning.... and I am grateful for the sights and sounds and smells that surround me.

In a time where we fear shortness of breath

I am grateful I didn’t squeeze out my own

Asking for help

Was the manliest thing I ever did

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