Manhood

My bears' beard came in when I turned eighteen. I dipped my audacity in manhood and it spit me out like sugarless tea. The trenches near sent me back to curfews. A man must talk and bear his own garbage: He runs, He dies, and breaks his spine for pay that’s bare. He does not shed tears to carnage, He wars gracefully- like Frank to the Sway. I never was taught to war silently like shirts that know the wrath of a pen leak; to walk giant and to laugh defiantly at the loud drums and dances of deadbeats. But I swear by my face to the beehive I am – by my way- a man come alive!