Artist JoeMac | Poetry Vibe
Artist JoeMac
This poet practices good karma and posts comments 19300
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Bring me to your city to perform. Book me thru my website, www.authorjoemac.com

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Masculinity

CATEGORY

life

Views: 198

People always look at me and say I am the tough guy, Oh my God Joe, I admire that you don’t cry, I mean you’ve been thru heart surgery, two knee surgeries and my goodness, you are the only dude I know who can eat two burritos a week and stay in such excellent shape, how do you do it, I laugh, I smile, and then I tell em...I don’t, see I am not as tough as you think I am, even though I was raised to be, I was raised on the words of big boys don’t cry, but what happens when the boy dies and turns into an adult, what happens when they tell you to suck it up, but the vacuum cleaner called your heart is clogged with life’s filth, what happens when you are legitimately hurt, but they tell you that pain is nothing but weakness leaving the body, well I ask what happens when that pain is trapped in your spirit, see you see strong, tough willed, thick skinned, I see frail, vulnerable and sometimes malnourished, and I wanted to forget all that, so I diagnosed myself with amnesia, failing to forget that the poems written on my arms you call tattoos, are best selling novels of my war wounds, and if we start at chapter 13, you can see the belt wrapped around my neck, playing russian roulette with my breaths, chapter 14 saw my parents separate, chapter 16 saw me go on my first date, but chapter 33 is when I truly learned that death comes in threes, cause I saw death come to my godmother, my father and my marriage all in a month’s time, and then I remembered Jesus was also 33 when he died, so either this was something divine or I was learning to bear my own cross, so no offense towards you, but I scoff when people say I am the tough guy, I am the strong one to lean on in hard times, cause when times got hard, my therapy used to be henny bottles and black and milds, it was foul language and lies of I’m alright, there is nothing bothering me, when in truth, I was only 2/5ths of me, I was so damaged that I didn’t even equal the equality of a slave, so no, I’m not tough, I cry too, I sit in the dark with my head down pondering my next decision, wondering will the next surgical incision be on my wrists, I stand at the edges of cliffs, wondering if I can fly if I just outstretch my arms, until I realize when I did outstretch my arms, they say no free hugs, toughen up, you are not supposed to show emotion, shake it off, wipe those damn tears from you face and I’m wondering, did they tell God the same thing when his son was being crucified, cause if I ain’t allowed to cry, then who’s gonna do it for me, yes depression is real, I suffer from PTSD, I may even have ADHD or HIV, because it is literally a degenerative virus that defines masculinity, and I’m tired of medications, tired of poppin pills, I’m tired of rappers and television tryna tell me what’s real, so here’s the deal, if it’s illegal for man to express how he feels, then don’t blame us when you lose your providers and protectors, because even kings need their court jesters for laughter and smiles, and may I add, don’t cry at my funeral saying you miss me when I’m gone, remember, emotion is illegal

 

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COMMENTS

 

Inkthatspeaks says:

Nice write!

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