Skip to main content

Boys Will Be Boys.

No. I am sick of excusing the behavior of men on the basis of their contrived "nature".

I am sick of trying to reconcile wandering lust as an acceptable and irrevocable phenomenon of the male sex.

It is weakness, not strength, that beckons your frivolous bedside manners, hardly allowing your eyes to adjust to the light before you slip inside another drunken beauty queen. You have visions of a king reflected in the cracked mirror. You have mistaken the silver paint on your cardboard sword for blithe metal.

Wasted on the idiotic faith inspired by literary delusions, now let us welcome disappointment as a habit rather than an unexpected guest.

Some boys will always be boys. They are no more than a gang of violent children who refuse to question themselves as men.

Despite millions of sticky little boys shoving each other to the ground, hurling their mediocre successes at one another like mud, attacking more mediocre foes, they never reason past the blood that rushes to their second mind.

Do not go deaf listening to the cries of boys; you will never be able to understand the words of men.


Popular posts from this blog

I Can't Hear Your Little Red Rooster


I call this room Home.

He will not look at me

His eyes flicker with

a speck of violence.

my strained smile,

disgusted by

my pleading eyes.

my veins freeze

icy blood

tearing through coronaries

May Day

'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…