To Men
Something tells you
There’s an issue, something
Tells you are not the man
You are supposed to be.
When FOMO makes your solitude
Feel shameful. You ask: ‘Why me and not
The other guy?’ Who can tell,
Apart from that little something,
That little patriarch, which never fails
To find a nail
To pound with pressure
And keep pounding until
The embittered rage
Runs down embarrassed cheeks—
Boys don’t cry?
It is easy to look for
An Other to blame.
To do the pressure’s
Bidding by
Blaming women,
Blaming SJWs,
Blaming cucks,
Blaming the shadowy cabal,
Giving insipid meaning
To your loneliness by filling it
With misogyny, bile, or fascist
Masculinity worship—
Be a stud and be a chad,
But male authority is daddy
And you should lick its boot
With gratitude,
And if the need comes
For cannon fodder,
Go and throw yourself
In the meat grinder
For some rich man’s
Bottom line—
But ask yourself,
Why do the easy thing?
Why take the coward’s
Way out and keep blindly
Following this pressure
Into further forays
Of inhumane cruelty?
If noble masculinity
Is brave, why not
Be brave in the face
Of this pressure, which
Tells you to take your
Feelings of emasculation
And turn them into hatred
For everyone and everything
That doesn’t submit
To its decrepit expectations?
Why not be brave
And choose not to be
The puppet, the bully
The cannon fodder,
The grunt, the drone?
Why not look that
Pressure in its face
And finally figure out
What it is and what
It wants?
What you will find out
Is that your unease is
Not the work of feminism
Or some shadowy conspiracy.
It is the centuries-old refuse
Of an imperialist patriarchy,
Now brought to you by
Capital, which has it set
Its bloody claws deep
Into your culture.
That little patriarch and
Its pressure are society’s way
Of strong-arming men
Into the following
The dreaded rule of everyone,
The rule of normal,
The sacrament of conformist
Performativity and canonical
Experience: The doctrine of
Toxic Masculinity,
Societal docility
And compulsory virility
Sold together as
Dignified manhood;
A recipe for misery.
That pressure is society’s pet
Panopticon performed like
Self-awareness, sold to you
Through every screen screeching
Mutilation until you fit
That pre-packaged mould
Bleeding bitterness
Or resignation.
That pressure tells you to listen
To your libido more than
To your conscience.
And demands you value
The idea of sex more
Than the actual thing,
The love or even just
The pleasure.
That pressure has a side gig as
That inner cop who urgently
Needs a killing to the face.
That pressure wants
To turn you into its enforcer,
To take the difficulties
Of life and make them worse
For yourself and everyone else.
That pressure would have you
Patrol the streets for women,
To catcall, to harass or worse.
It would have you looking for
Gay or trans people to bully
And beat up. It would have you join
The worst of the world’s violent
Fanatics, whose whole lives
Have been reduced to making
Society worse and unsafe
Simply so they can feel in
Control of their insecurities.
Remember: the alfa male
Does not exist in the freedom
Of the wild. He is simply
The most brutal outcome
Of life imprisoned.
That patriarchal pressure
Is how men become incels,
‘nice guys,’ pickup artists,
Or self-pitying virgins
Engulfed by resentment
And misogyny.
It takes virginity and
Celibacy, things experienced
My billions of men
Without shame for centuries
And warps them into mortal sins.
The virgin,
The celibate,
The introvert,
The dandy,
The cuck,
None will ever be as pathetic
As he who devotes his life to
The false idol of virility
And performs his worship
With violence, vileness
And impotent revenge.
That same pressure
Is the phantom
Of male inadequacy,
Of emasculation,
That dreaded spectre,
The unforgiving gaze
Of mandatory manliness.
It haunts your personhood
And will never let you be
Yourself, nor let you
Even find out
Who that is.
That pressure wants
To make you lesser,
Wants to reduce you
To a sad set of prescribed
Personality treats.
That pressure wants
To make you see
A kaleidoscopic world
As paltry shades
Of deathly grey.
That pressure invades
Every man who wants
To make his peace
With masculinity
By looking for answers
In the rotting vestiges
Of patriarchal mythmaking.
That pressure wasn’t made
To make you happy,
To give you freedom, meaning,
Nobility or success.
That pressure was manufactured
To put its male subjects
Into a manageable box
Where dominating womanhood
Would keep the serfs aplenty,
And the men incurious
About what was dominating
Them. Just let it go.
Just be a man, whatever
That means to you, if
That is truly what
You want.