Kneel beyond my throne, unaware it was born of lies.
Eyes linger on my every move, whispers shouting.
Am I meant to replicate perfection, or just die trying?
Cold smiles approach, thinking they have uncovered my tell-tale heart.

But I am a seasoned ghost.

Being raised to suffer, I have learned to hide.
To mold myself to fit the standards.
To grit my teeth and stand still as my form shifts once again.
Knowing the brief seconds of waking are a soft euphoria I will soon miss.

I wake to a dawn meant only for the dying.

I wake to reset my own jaw,
bending my bones backwards
with the occasional crack,
a ritual ensuring I resemble something human.

People believe I am powerful, successful, happy,
(but i am as fragile as frost on a window touched by morning).
My costume is convincing, but cannot change what I am.
Invisibly so, and so the pretending continues.

Look at you, you lost animal.
You tear down anything that has a chance of being good,
then sit in the shadow of what can only be bad,
and tell me the world worries you.

They got me an umbrella,
to save me from the rain.
Shame, I thought, that same resource
which gives us life,
and tickles light,
in beautiful ways portrays the city at night,
as I look through my window,
a shame that we should hide so vehemently
from the cold and adverse,
from the tears of the earth
that give it a life,
that wraps it in blue in the great void of night.

I hope one day,
the rains wash away
the fakeness and faces,
and unhealthy places
and carries us to a place
that's less graceless.
I hope we can suffer a few small droplets per day,
of that purified element
that washes the all-consuming comfort away.

The hardships of a man are his silent battles –
“you ought to open up more,” which opens
his worth to being diminished.

We only cry when the world is asleep, painting
smiles on our faces to render our outer walls
somewhat pleasing to your gaze.  

We fight private wars, striving to shield those
we love from the fallout – yet the scars we bear
are somehow unsightly in your view.

We’ll conform to your contradictions, offering
our utmost to project an image of strength for
the women, while our brothers are the only ones  
who truly understand our weaknesses.  

The hardships of a man are his silent battles –
and it is only his fellow men who can truly
witness their tears.