Masculinity

Boys,
Turn to Men.
And Men,
Turn to dust.

I believe there's
A vital moment
Somewhere in there.

Scholars say,
That adulthood comes
Tied to knowledge,
Sex sweat,
And thoughts of
Six feet of soil.

How anti-septic.

So what of those,
Who believe it is tied
To the moment his
Face breaks
Under your fist,
And he screams for
You to stop?

Some would sneer,
In self satisfied smugness
At the honesty of violence.
Contented in their,
Fang-less toothy smiles.
They,
Who have never needed
To last the night.
They,
The unproven for whom,
There is no well of strength to draw from.

They,
The Emasculated.

But,
I am not one
Who breaks bones
Simply to grow.

I do not believe
That the change
Is some finite,
Discrete instance,
With manly horns,
Drums
And a great big brass band
Simply to herald the dropping of
Your testicles.

Rather,
I believe in the best of things,
Being built on,
The best of foundations.
That an avalanche can grow,
In a properly prepared mind.

This vital moment can come.

The world,
Piling on around you.
Your back,
To the wall.
And those you thought you'd need,
Are nowhere to be found.

That you can reach down,
Past the place,
You keep
Your nightmares
And find the strength
To stand alone.

Your power will surge
In glory
And you can summon
The strength to proclaim,

"Fuck the brass band,
I'm a man now
And I don't need it."