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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Vesti la Giubba What might it mean, to say that I’m a man? This dignity, this thing I think I feel, is it ephemeral, or is it something real? I sense I’ve suffered since the world began. Her show of fondness was no deeper than this gaudy paste of grease and cochineal. I’m sick of acting, sick of this ordeal. Is there no better universal plan? Teeth and talons serve to gash and tear. To merely live, all life must stalk, ensnare and slaughter others, lower in the chain. I gave the best in me, and met disdain. Condemned to look for love, we find despair, and this I know – but why must there be pain? A Drunk-Shunning Funk That you revolt me, should be clear by now. A settling of accounts is overdue. You’ve proved that alcohol can loosen glue. I’ve shown my disenchantment, you’ll allow, and fired so many shots across your bow, that I’m impossible to misconstrue. I see you now as something I outgrew. My furrow’s found a bright new shiny plough. I’ll always hate the odour of stale beer, a stink which is preponderantly yours. It seems to issue from your very pores. You’ve often sneered at warnings. “Insincere”, you’ve called my threats to leave – but never fear: You’re going to learn how women settle scores. Shafting the Wanton One tendency that’s underestimated is men’s recourse to violence when thwarted. Their sense of mastery is oft inflated, false feelings of entitlement distorted. The **** and the dagger are related, two things to which we’ve endlessly resorted. If women’s fate is being penetrated, “eviscerated” means the same as “courted”? This thing called honour – what exactly is it? And how’s it salved by wiping out her life? When lack of satisfaction comes to visit, are men then meant to meet it with the knife? The steel’s the hard one (irony exquisite!) but which one gets inserted in the wife?
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