When the marriage ends,  
and the child is still too small to understand  
what's been torn,  
why is it that the man tells his friends—  
"She was crazy."  
"She never got off her ***."  
"She was too emotional."  
"She never took care of the kids."  

And no one asks him,  
"Why did you stay?"  
Why did you have children with her?  
Why did you marry her in the first place?  
Why does she have full custody now?"  

No one dares to ask,  
because they already know.  

Men stay—  
for the comfort of control,  
for the invisible chains that bind women  
with babies,  
with promises that were never kept.  

They know,  
the way a child knows their mother’s touch  
but never her heart.  

The man knows his power in her silence,  
in her labor,  
in her sacrifices—  
the ones no one sees but her.  

And yet, when she walks away, they ask her,  
"Why did you stay so long?"  

Because they know the cost of leaving  
was more than she could afford.  

But still she walked.  

Still she left.  

Why did she stay?  

For the love she thought might change him.  
For the chance that maybe—just maybe—  
he’d become the man she believed in.  
For the hope that her children would have a father who cared.  

But he didn’t.  

He stayed because he knew—  
the house wouldn’t run without her.  
The kids wouldn’t be fed,  
the bills wouldn’t be paid,  
and the image of a family was more important than the truth.  

Men stay because it’s easier to claim a woman  
than to be the man they promised to be.  

And when she leaves, they don’t ask themselves,  
"Why couldn’t I be better?"  

They just ask,  
"Why did she stay so long?"

Found love in a man’s clothes; the one who had
Love in his heart before that love stick in his pants

Man-made; a man made from complex emotions,
He’s just an emoji showing one shade of feeling
With a different one behind him

So few, do rarely wear their heart on their sleeve –
He does so well to cover up himself

                                              Naked men are so few!

Fellow men –
man to man,
once a boy to
another boy...

I beg you,
please make your
intentions clear...

For we all sleep at night –
and in that sense don’t
need more dreams
being sold to
our women

those are false dreams –

A man opens up

in the arms of a woman --


He softens and talks.

And they will still be celebrated by the people around you as "good men" while your blood drips from their teeth.

Fridays were always fun.

Jack was always the bold one, but once you knew him, it wasn’t that bad. You be surprised, once he got going, he became the life of the party.

Jerry was sweet and got along with everyone, though if you cornered him, he has one hell-of-a-punch.

Tito was smooth too, and like Jerry, got along with everyone. But became a bit bitter later in life.

Jim, Jose and Bulleit—man those three guys always got into trouble. They were ok at first, but we had a falling out as they fought with themselves and everyone else. Probably for the best not to worry about them.

And Mary. I don’t know how to explain it. She had a certain allure, an air about her. She is sweet, good looking, and super funny. No matter who she is with she can have a good time, down to party whenever.  

I suppose we all have lives now.
Too responsible.
But we deserve to have a good time, right?
It is a Friday.
I’ll be honest out of everyone I’d contact, it would be Mary. Maybe Jack and Jerry, only if Mary said she was cool with them as well. Anyone else though and the good times will not roll.

Mental mettle,
Mettle mentally.
You just don't understand,
The way I speak.
So if you're yelling incoherently,
I'm just going to repeat the same thing,
I said before backwards.
So please use restraint my friend,
Or show some restraint to me.

Right on 490,
The raised turn to 490 east.
There’s a hill,
And on that hill sits a lone,
Lazy Boy recliner.
Two folding chairs,
A table,
Two men,
And one sign.
“F Trump”

Boys will be boys,
Guess that’s it.

toxicity is just a human thing; cause of all the fumes we
all love to breathe – do our young men have much chose,
we can all live like men, but need to be trained like boys
if the roof over our troubled fires fell down, would the
smoke clear, or would we be forced to breath it all in?

but that’s how we live because we’re troubled, have dreams
inspired by the ideas of others, treat women less, as men
with no father’s, live in our own shadows because we all
hate our true colours –
                                  we just all want to breath.

Patro, patrino.

Mother: the little father --


in Esperanto.