The pink shirt you don’t want me to wear,
Lies on my bed among the monochromes.
And as I fold it away,
I cry, man tears,
Somewhere far away, where men do cry.
My mother always told me,
That I was the bestest boy
And that I had the prettiest heart.
But then at seventeen,
Why did you call me words,
Which I thought were for the bad ones.
My friend cries,
She says “ I really loved him ”,
About the boy who hurt her, thinking
Man-up meant something different ,
And I think of the times,
At the Café, where she stared fondly at him,
And I think , yet again a man has lost a gem in the pursuit of the norms.
But did I tell you,
I am happy, being a boy with a gentle heart,
I am enraged at you,
But when I remember that you will never make that cup of tea for your mother when she comes back from work,
Or tell your sister she looks like the most beautiful woman in that dress,
Or see the one for you looking at you with fond eyes as you do the dishes,
All I can feel is pity for you.
And then I take the pretty pink shirt I folded away years ago,
Wear it with blue jeans and go out with her in my arms,
Saying goodbye to mom at the doorway, who still looks at me
Like I am the bestest boy.
I am happy being a boy with a gentle heart,
And maybe you are not,
But all I can hope is maybe you will be,
Someday .
AUTHOR NOTES:
1. I cried writing this. ( This means a lot to me).
2. I’ve wanted to write about toxic masculinity for a long time, but I was struggling to put my feelings into words the right way. I think I finally figured it out. ( I used the word bestest in the poem purposefully )
3. Hope you like it. ( Lots of love from me.)