Our worthy sons should never be ashamed

Of who they are and who they’re meant to be.

For far too long men’s gender has been blamed

In wars that weaponize identity.

To hell with toxic masculinity—

That noxious term indelibly ingrained

In minds so duped and blind they fail to see

Our worthy sons should never be ashamed.

No baby boy is born to be constrained

By chromosomes or nationality.

No baby boy is born to be defamed

For who he is and who he’s meant to be.

Dividers hex and vex society

Till patriarchy’s name is trashed and stained

By twisted takes on inequality—

For far too long men’s gender has been blamed.

Our worthy sons are slammed and damned and framed

For heinous acts in long-gone history.

They’re criticized and demonized and maimed

In wars that weaponize identity.

Woke, factious terms like male supremacy

(Designed to geld the gallant) have inflamed

This mother’s ire to fight vile misandry—

To stand up and to shoot down hatred aimed

At worthy sons.

♂ ♂ ♂ 

Written By Susan Jarvis Bryant

When I was young, I used to

Watch behind the curtains

As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.

Young men sharp as mustard.

See them. Men are always

Going somewhere.

They knew I was there. Fifteen

Years old and starving for them.

Under my window, they would pause,

Their shoulders high like the

Breasts of a young girl,

Jacket tails slapping over

Those behinds,

Men.

♂

One day they hold you in the

Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you

Were the last raw egg in the world. Then

They tighten up. Just a little. The

First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.

Soft into your defenselessness. A little

More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a

Smile that slides around the fear. When the

Air disappears,

Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,

Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.

It is your juice

That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.

When the earth rights itself again,

And taste tries to return to the tongue,

Your body has slammed shut. Forever.

No keys exist.

♂

Then the window draws full upon

Your mind. There, just beyond

The sway of curtains, men walk.

Knowing something.

Going someplace.

But this time, I will simply

Stand and watch.

♂

Maybe.

♂♂♂

Written by Maya Angelou

They hail you as their morning star 

Because you are the way you are. 

If you return the sentiment, 

They’ll try to make you different; 

And once they have you, safe and sound, 

They want to change you all around. 

Your moods and ways they put a curse on; 

They’d make of you another person. 

They cannot let you go your gait; 

They influence and educate.

They’d alter all that they admired. 

They make me sick, they make me tired.

(3@&^!?)

Written By Dorothy Parker

Sirs, when you pity us, I say

You waste your pity. Let it stay,

Well corked and stored upon your shelves,

Until you need it for yourselves.

We do appreciate God’s thought

In forming you, before He brought

Us into life. His art was crude,

But oh, so virile in its rude

Large elemental strength: and then

He learned His trade in making men;

Learned how to mix and mould the clay

And fashion in a finer way.

How fine that skillful way can be 

You need but lift your eyes to see; 

And we are glad God placed you there 

To lift your eyes and find us fair. 

Apprentice labour though you were, 

He made you great enough to stir 

The best and deepest depths of us, 

And we are glad he made you thus. 

Ay! we are glad of many things. 

God strung our hearts with such fine strings 

The least breath moves them, and we hear 

Music where silence greets your ear. 

We suffer so? but women’s souls 

Like violet powder dropped on coals, 

Give forth their best in anguish. Oh, 

The subtle secrets that we know, 

Of joy in sorrow, strange delights 

Of ecstasy in pain-filled nights, 

And mysteries of gain in loss 

Known but to Christ upon the Cross! 

Our tears are pitiful to you? 

Look how the heaven-reflecting dew 

Dissolves its life in tears. The sand 

Meanwhile lies hard upon the strand. 

How could your pity find a place 

For us, the mothers of the race? 

Men may be fathers unaware, 

So poor the title is you wear, 

But mothers -? Who that crown adorns 

Knows all its mingled blooms and thorns; 

And she whose feet that path hath trod 

Has walked upon the heights with God. 

No, offer us not pity’s cup. 

There is no looking down or up 

Between us: eye looks straight in eye: 

Born equals, so we live and die.

Written By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

*** *** ***

Being a man is knowing where you are needed most

To swallow your fear and stand proud

A lack of guidance gives a misguided belief

your journey will thrust you forth into lessons

♂ 

Define what being a man is, 

You don’t always have to be the protector

Even with a natural willingness

Being a man is knowing where you are needed most 

♂

Allow yourself to be vulnerable

In the face of struggle 

A man isn’t meant to show how he feels

persevere through feelings of weakness and unimportance  

♂

Feeling lower then Others 

To have versatility and creativity 

Show subtle kindness and understanding

To be strong caring loving and warm

♂

Being a man is knowing where you are needed most

Use your intellect care and humor 

Admit your failures 

Masculinity comes in different forms

♂

Being a man is knowing where your needed the most 

A man of the tribe doesn’t know his emotion 

Allow yourself to feel and to be open

Learn that emotion isn’t weakness its courage 

***

Written By Cian Malone

What is the measure of a man?

Is it the the size of his heart,

His compassion for others,

The ability to stand back up 

After the beating life has offered him 

♂

Live and die as you see fit, 

Who is to say you have to live like this?

Its not your importance that matters

Nor your fame how deep your buried 

or the goals you set or the hardship you endured

♂

You and you alone decide how to live

its the impression you left, 

its how far you’ve risen 

Its the pain you overcame

the challenges you faced

♂ 

You are a man Not a machine 

***

Written By Cian Malone

Some folks say that you’re toxic,

and destroying all the world.

Some folks say that you’re reckless,

and just want to feel up girls.

I think you’re like a fire,

a great tool in the right hands,

but able to turn quickly

and sear the foolish man.

♂

Once upon a time we knew

what boys would be trained to be.

We taught them to wield the flame

that is masculinity.

Those who would do without it,

are brainless, spineless clods;

Life is not a therapy session,

it’s a fight against long odds!

♂

To fight that fight without it

never ends all that well.

The vicious kill the peaceable types,

or corrupt them into their hell.

Without a strong mind standing

on lines drawn in the dirt,

we’d lose our lives or lose our souls

to the monsters of the Earth.

♂

And let’s not forget the home life,

the one that we know best.

We’ve got young boys playing gangster,

or becoming men without chests.

Going hard to both extremes,

unaware of the middle path,

without the old code’s guidance,

they’re either lazy or full of wrath.

♂

And men who once built things,

now sit home and get cash,

not ashamed at getting handouts,

their souls atrophy quite fast.

Other ‘men’ still make money,

spreading buzzwords, lies, and fear.

They feel no shame because honor

to them is dumb and weird.

♂

So to you I am asking this,

though the softer types may squeal,

your presence is requested,

your fury, passion, zeal.

Your role here is important,

without you we cannot be.

I’ll teach my kids to now your name,

to know masculinity.

***

Written By David Welch