misconstrued [man]ifestations

side [A] be a man          
stock standard virulent beefcake          
king pawn wired for violence          
through war he yields peace          
look back across the mountain pass          
a forged foreign landscape          
i barely recognise my [broken] self          
she thinks the mechanics are simple          
loving him can not simply be          
hearts are tempered and minds honed          
he is unearthed          
unhinged and hung          
he is dead buried and reborn          
threefold repetition          
adrift and anchored          
he is stagnant          
he is crucified          
he is dead          
side [B] man up          
this is not an apathetic command          
not a toxic war cry          
this is trajectory          
a red beacon ignites on lupiter          
shatters silence from space          
a call to arms          
wrapped tight around my man pup          
can feel everything raw and human          
tears bleed through my shirt to kiss skin          
my lips draw words against his cheek          
nods once          
he is worried about school          
nods twice          
feels a bit better when he gets there          
blood truths cut and his hero unravels          
i am worried about work          
rather keep safe with my wolf pack          
but i gotta rise every morning          
front whatever is coming my way          
the world sometimes blesses me with flowers          
and other days i get pelted with bricks          
taps temple tremors          
[trigger ancient murmurs from a soldier]          
thoughts of coming home transcend          
muscle threads and delicate bone    
no man can survive this life alone
Written by case28 (Alexander Case)
Published | Edited 4th Mar 2021
Author's Note
The poem was inspired by Grin's manly writing challenge.

A few hours after publishing this poem I stumbled across a news article about a mass murder committed by a self proclaimed incel... I had to lookup the definition of incel... because I live in a small coastal village that resembles a cave and don't read news frequently enough... so it seems.

These so called involuntary celibates... what a bunch of cowardice wankers?

Interesting... how poems come to be sometimes... how words come together... and often the meaning appears sometime after the dust settles.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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