Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Men Cry, Get Over It

Men cry. Get over it.
I'm referring to DC's loss to Jones this past weekend. Even when we take out the fact he was (quite brutally) knocked out and wasn't in any condition to be interviewed. At the end of the day the guy just fought a battle and emotion overcame him.
When it comes to Men..our tears don't make us weak. Stronger, I'd say.
There's this whole phenomenon I've been experiencing. I call it being on my grown man shit. Definitions need to be changed. Especially when we're talking about "real men". It's the societal projection of what "real men" say/do that is garbage. It doesn't surprise me that suppressed emotion comes out as violence. We aren't being taught to understand our own emotions enough. I've seen countless fights. Most instigated over mindless bullshit. Mostly two ego's seeking desperate validation from peers.
Yet MMA is the opposite of that. I'd say it's the antidote to what I mentioned above. Nothing is more humbling than a choke hold giving you two options. Tap or lights out.Vigorous training routines and a scientific knowledge of striking and take downs. The opponents may not always respect each other but do shake hands and quite often make peace afterwards. I could go on and on about how professional fighting is much different than bar brawls (duh). 
Crying men are generally the butt of a joke by both males and females. You may recognize popular meme's such as:

I've even noticed gender equality groups using images such as these to make fun of males they "don't like". 
So yeah, men cry, get over it. We tend not to make a show of it. Men lack an emotional support community anyways. Nobody is rubbing our shoulders and telling us everything is going to be OK. We are burdened by the expectation that we be tough and stoic in appearance. 
And plenty men are covered in muscles and tattoos as part of their self expression. There's also men that are artists and writers. Some men have unique fashion senses and others pride themselves on their hair. They are all equally men. No matter what preferred image is projected upon us we are all equal. 
All of us cry. No kidding. 

-d,r


Sunday, July 30, 2017

Storm Season 1





I go for walks during storm season
Turning down strange roads for no reason
A flash of lightning illuminates your face in the dark
The energy in your eyes unspoken
Cold pebbles scooped from a puddle thrown high into the air
I’m not coming down from this
The naysayers chant so loud that we’ll never work out
Too young. Foolish passion. They say.
But when I hold you I’m so indifferent to public opinion
Nature is the only witness to our truth
Leading me to you on a cool quiet night punctuated with claps of thunder



-d,r

 

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Freewriting 1


Seeking out love like life. So short yet passionate. So up and down yet terrified of nothing. Rubbing my eyes just trying to cry. Told my homie the other day there’s strength in tears. Conversations behind the scenes caught up in the puppet play. You know? That overhanging manhood this or that trying dictate what I feel and say? I’m not holding anyone down, for real, I’m leaving this city one day. Not for warm weather reasons. I know the true climate of treason. In the blazing sun I saw the devil. Inside of me I shift uncomfortably in front of the mirror. Hardly recognize the cold stare leering back at me. Don’t put me on a pedestal. Here, you hold the crown. Feel it? So cold and heavy. Covered in diamonds I can’t sell but would never purchase if I could. Growing up I never saw wealth equate happiness. Long airport hallways with the lingering smell of my mother’s perfume. Nothing to hide in my four corner room. 

This pride, man, all I have. I carry it around in my backpack along with my notebook. Pride has something to do with you, I guess. I figure I always felt I had to be someone else to be with you. I've realized that'll never happen. Yet you still feel so good in my arms. In a different world...There are other worlds than this, yet some things never change. 

d,r







Sunday, May 28, 2017

A Crush at this Age



How odd a crush feels at this age
Can’t touch you
My imagination running wild
So far from the blind optimism I had as a child
Between then and now lays a battlefield
So many poems and un-watched movies
A tangled mess on the lazy boy
When I sip red wine I swear her perfume is in the air
So many casualties to your endless legs and long hair
So many casual head nods and nonchalant agreements
Cause fuck him and he’s no good, you know, all that
You could do better. Someone like me. Yet not me.
I’m going to have to excuse myself
Find a park bench somewhere and remind myself I don’t want that right now anyways
Want to tie some loose ends. Head out west.
Be closer to my mother and brother
Oh how odd this feels
A crush at this age

d,r