boys lessons
They told him, “Boys don’t cry or feel,”
“Stand tall, be hard, and never kneel.”
So he learned young to wear a mask,
To fake the strength they dared to ask.
He bit his tongue, he clenched his jaw,
Afraid to show a single flaw.
And every tear he held inside
Just made him hollow, made him hide.
They praised him when he played it cool,
When he was quiet, cold, and cruel.
“Be tough,” they said. “Don’t act too soft.”
So he locked his kindness in the loft.
Each dream he had, each word, each spark,
Was buried deep beneath the dark.
He learned to smile without a soul,
To chase the goal, not be the goal.
He feared he'd never be enough
Not strong, not fast, not hard, not tough.
He questioned every step he made,
Afraid he was always to be brave.
At night, he'd lie there, wide awake,
The silence louder than the ache.
He'd count the flaws they couldn’t see,
And wonder, Is there more to me?
He laughed with friends, he played the part,
But shame kept growing in his heart.
He acted like he didn’t care,
But choked on ghosts that weren’t there.
And deep inside, a voice would speak
A whisper far too small, too weak:
What if you could just let go?
What if the world won’t hate you so?
But that voice got drowned in “Man up, kid,”
And “Real men never feel, they rid.”
So he became a walking war,
Of who he is and what's ignored.
He wanted space, but not to fight
He wanted peace, not proof of might.
He wanted someone just to say,
“You’re still a man if you’re not okay.”
But no one came. They never do.
So he became the silence too.
He locked his truth in rusted chains
And told himself, This is the game.
But now and then, he dares to dream,
Of what it means to break the scheme.
To speak his name, to shed the lie,
To lift his gaze and touch the sky.
To cry and not feel shame or fear,
To say, “I hurt,” and still be here.
To build a life not built on pain
To walk through fire, and not in chains.
He’s not there yet but he still tries.
Each breath a war, each step defies.
The boy they tried so hard to break
Is learning now
He gets to take.
Not just the blame, the weight, the fall
But love, and voice, and dreams,
and all
Copyright © butch reichard | Year Posted 2025
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