The Truth About My Manhood

There are days I hate being a man,
when feelings stick in my throat
like a piece of meat,
too thick and unchewed to swallow,

impossible to digest fast enough
for the moment I am in.
The world moves too fast
for my heart, sluggish and battered,

to keep up, and it beats wildly
while my face stays still as yesterday,
calm in the midst of passion and fear,
perfectly able to function

right to the brink of collapse.

About this poem

I have often said that I write poetry because I don’t express myself so well in the heat of the moment. When feelings are strong, they often drown me in their intensity and I do not express myself myself well at all. I grasp for words, often the wrong ones, or I freeze and say almost nothing.

Some find that an odd thing, that a poet and writer has trouble getting feelings out. But I don’t think I am alone. I think a lot of us, particularly men, have that trouble. We are awhirl with feelings and someone asks us what we are thinking.

“Nothing” we say, and it is true. We’re feeling, not thinking, and we are at the mercy of the feelings until they settle down and we can stumble through the words to share our hearts.

Poetry is my stumbling.

Tom

PS: The picture was taken at the Manchester Auto Show a weekend or two ago.