Act Like a Man

I’ve bitten my tongue one too many times. Tasting my blood of defeat. But above all else, I wish I would just speak. To tell him to shut the **** up already. And show him that I’ve tolerated his degrading uses of the words, *****, gay, and *** long enough. But every time I protest, it is I who tastes blood of defeat. And locks myself in my room, to scream and cry about being too weak. He wants me to “act like a man.” And to “grow a set of balls.” ****, why doesn’t he just clone me to be six feet tall? And be a man without a job and no morals at all? And brag to my homeboys about my sex life and refer to women as *****es. Or to pick on boys like me—who he wouldn’t mind giving stitches. And yet, he wants me to “act like a man.” No, he wants me to be more like him.