We Are The Pillars

 We wear our strength like weathered leather,

concealing the scars beneath. Society expects us to be pillars, so we stand tall, shoulders squared against life’s storms,

bearing the weight of expectations without complaint.

We become the rock others lean on, the voice of reason in chaos, even as doubt gnaws at our core.

But in the depths of night, when the façade can finally fall, our strength yields to solitude. There, in the blue-black hours where no one bears witness, the armor comes off. The weight we carry, of family, of duty, of endless responsibilities, bears down until our knees buckle.

And we cry. Not from weakness, but from the sheer humanity of it all.

We cry for the times we couldn’t show pain, because others needed us to be unbreakable.

We cry for the emotions we’ve buried beneath layers of “man up” and “stay strong.”

We cry because we’ve spent so long being everyone else’s foundation that we’ve forgotten how to ask for support ourselves.

Real strength isn’t in never breaking, it’s in having the courage to acknowledge when we’re cracking. These tears don’t make us less of a man; they make us more complete. They’re the release valve for pressure that builds behind stoic expressions and firm handshakes, behind the mask of unwavering resilience we’re expected to wear.

These private moments of vulnerability are sacred. They’re not signs of failure, but proof of our humanity. They show that beneath the calloused exterior beats a hea1 q qart that feels deeply, hurts profoundly, and heals quietly. When dawn breaks, we’ll rise again, collect ourselves, and step back into our roles;fathers, brothers, sons, protectors,carrying our burdens with renewed vigor.

So brother, if you find yourself alone, tears falling in the dark, know this: you haven’t lost your strength. You’re reclaiming it. In a world that tells us to be pillars of stone, remember that even mountains were shaped by rain.

You’re not just strong despite your tears,you’re strong because of them.

Warriors Tears

 In the depths of a forests, even the mightiest oaks release

They say warriors don’t cry. But they forget that every blade must meet water to find its temper, that every mountain harbors underground rivers, that even wolves howl at the moon when their hearts grow heavy with winter’s solitude.

We are the silent guardians, the midnight sentinels, the keepers of sacred fires that burn in homes and hearts. Our strength echoes in the chambers of expectations—be the rock, be the shield, be the immovable force against life’s relentless tide. We wear these expectations like battle armor, polished by years of “man up” and “push through.”

But in the sacred hours, when darkness drapes its velvet cloak across the world, when the weight of unspoken words becomes too heavy for even Atlas to bear, we find our deepest truth. Here, in solitary sanctuaries, empty garages where tools hang like silent witnesses, basement workshops where sawdust masks our salt, driver’s seats that hold the print of countless solitary vigils,we allow ourselves to breathe.

And sometimes, breathing becomes breaking becomes healing.

Our tears fall like warrior’s prayers, silent, dignified, sacred. Each drop carries the whispered names of battles fought in silence: the son’s disappointment we couldn’t shield, the father’s praise we never heard, the lover’s heart we couldn’t mend, the friend we lost to time’s merciless march.

They fall for dreams surrendered at dawn’s altar, for burdens borne too long alone, for love that slipped through fingers strong enough to bend steel but too rough to hold butterfly wings.

These are not common waters that fall from our eyes. They are forged in the furnace of responsibility, distilled from years of swallowed words and stifled storms. They carry the weight of generations of men who built empires on the outside while their inner kingdoms crumbled in silence.

Yet in these tears lies a deeper strength, the courage to acknowledge that even mountains must move, that even stone must weather, that even the strongest foundations need moments to settle and reset. There is profound power in this vulnerability, this willing descent into our own depths.

When dawn breaks, we will rise like phoenixes from these sacred ashes of midnight confessions. Our strength will not be diminished but transformed, tempered by truth, fortified by feeling, made more complete by the courage to be incomplete. We will carry our burdens with renewed purpose, our hearts lighter not from losing weight but from knowing its worth.

For this is the hidden wisdom passed down through generations of warriors, whispered in the spaces between battles: True strength lies not in the absence of tears, but in understanding why they fall. Not in the denial of pain, but in allowing it to forge us anew. Not in standing unwavering, but in knowing how to rise when we’ve fallen.

We are men of earth and iron, of fire and flood, of thunder and whispered prayers. Our tears are not our weakness, they are our most sacred offering to the night, proof that beneath our armor beats a heart brave enough to break, strong enough to heal, wise enough to know that sometimes, the greatest act of courage is simply letting the waters flow.

In these moments of sacred surrender, we don’t become less. We become legend.

The Pursuit of Love

 The Pursuit of Love

He does not chase with desperate stride,

But pursues with purpose, strength, and pride.

A man who knows his boundless worth,

Yet sees in you the stars and earth.

With gentle hands and thoughtful heart,

He approaches love as sacred art.

No desperation clouds his mind,

His intentions pure, his spirit kind.

In words both honest and sincere,

He makes his heart’s intentions clear.

His voice carries truth’s sweet song,

Building trust where it belongs.

He listens more than speaks his piece,

Letting silence bring its peace.

Your voice he values as his own,

In shared dialogue, love has grown.

Though scars of yesterday remain,

They’ve taught him wisdom through their pain.

Not shackled by the storms he’s weathered,

But stronger where his heart’s been tethered.

Your growth he nurtures like spring flowers,

Celebrates your rising powers.

In partnership, two spirits soar,

Each day bringing something more.

Your heart’s well-being guides his way,

Your peace of mind shapes every day.

With patience born of self-aware grace,

He gives your soul its breathing space.

In commitment’s garden, deep roots grow,

His loyalty a steady flow.

He doesn’t promise worlds above,

But makes you center of his love.

For in his eyes, you’ll clearly see

The only one you’ll ever be,

Not reaching for the stars above,

But grounded in his present love.

                     

                                   

Let me introduce myself, and get to know one another

 Thank you for joining me! My name is Shain, and I am honored to be the founder of Unguided Gentleman. My life’s journey has been rich with experiences that have deeply influenced my values and the mission of this organization.

I grew up in a household that lacked a father figure,a situation that presented both challenges and opportunities for growth. The absence of paternal guidance meant that I often had to navigate life's complexities on my own. This led me to step into a caregiver role, assisting my mother in raising my siblings from a young age. Through this experience, I learned about responsibility, sacrifice, and the importance of familial support. I assumed duties that went beyond simple sibling interactions, stepping up to help with everything from household chores to emotional support.

As I entered my teenage years, life became more tumultuous. The struggles of adolescence can be particularly overwhelming, and I found myself grappling with feelings of confusion and resentment. During this period, I unfortunately turned to unhealthy coping mechanisms, including alcohol and prescription pills, seeking relief from the pressures I faced. These choices often led to deeper struggles, leaving me feeling isolated and adrift.

However, a turning point came after I graduated from high school. Motivated by my desire to create a different legacy for my children, I made a conscious decision to become a father who provides not just for his family, but who also offers emotional availability and guidance. Determined to break the cycle I had experienced, I drew inspiration from my grandfather, a man who instilled in me strong values of hard work and integrity. His example encouraged me to commit wholeheartedly to my family.

For the past thirteen years, I have dedicated myself to building a stable and loving environment for my own family while pursuing a career as a fifth-generation union pipefitter. This occupation has been both rewarding and challenging, offering significant financial benefits that help support our family’s needs, as well as instilling a sense of pride in carrying on a family tradition of skilled craftsmanship.

While the trades offer considerable Financial benefits also often require travel that can interfere with medical appointments and personal care. The demands of working seven days a week for twelve hours a day can be physically taxing, leading to missed opportunities for important milestones, holidays, and birthdays. It can be quite challenging to witness a spouse managing household responsibilities alone while maintaining connections with children through a screen. The guilt; depression,and feelings of loneliness became compounded with alcohol and substances to numb the pain; despite trying to fill the void, I ultimately was obscuring the fundamental values in life.

 I came to recognize that being away from home limited my ability to support my partner and engage meaningfully in my children’s lives. When my friend decided to leave, taking the kids with her, I understood her right to pursue what was best for her family. Reflecting on this journey evokes a sense of frustration and a desire for guidance during those difficult moments. I have learned that no amount of work can substitute for the precious years spent away from loved ones.

 My experiences during the years spent away from loved ones have significantly influenced my perspective on mental health, particularly for men. This understanding has fostered a sense of empathy for those who may feel isolated and disconnected from their support networks. It is apparent that many men confront challenges such as addiction, depression, and self-doubt, often in silence and without adequate support.

In response to this insight, I established a brand focused on raising awareness about men’s mental health issues and providing access to essential resources. My intention is to cultivate a community that promotes open dialogue and fosters mutual understanding among individuals facing these challenges.

I am dedicated to reaching out to those who are struggling, extending compassion and support as they navigate their unique circumstances. I believe that the potential for joy and fulfillment exists for everyone, and my aim is to help individuals recognize and harness that potential. Empowering them to lead lives filled with purpose is a priority, as is guiding them through various life complexities.

Having faced feelings of being lost myself, I truly understand the difficulties that can arise. By sharing my journey and insights, my hope is to inspire others to find their own paths toward healing and personal growth. Together, we have the opportunity to challenge the stigma associated with mental health and foster a more supportive environment for all men to flourish. I aim to foster a greater understanding of the importance of support systems, personal growth, and the pursuit of balance in our lives. 

Thank you for being a part of this journey with me. 

SINCERELY 

Shain

Fractured Reflections

Glass fragments capture my splintered sight, Kaleidoscope faces emerging in light. 

Each shard a window, each surface a key 

To territories of myself I struggle to see.

The first reflection—weathered, worn, and

wise Holds memories etched like lines around my eyes. Battles survived, wounds carefully sewn,A landscape of courage I’ve quietly grown.

The second mirror shows the moment’s raw truth: Neither my childhood’s dream nor my fading youth.Here I stand trembling, both fragile and strong, A melody playing between right and wrong.

The final vision—ethereal, bright—Whispers of futures just beyond sight. Potential unfurling like dawn’s tender flame,Refusing to be constrained by any name.

These mirrors are windows, these windows are doors, Revealing the self behind a thousand floors. I am not one face, not one simple view, But a constellation of all I’ve been through.

Maybe Some Of Us Were Ment To Dream

Maybe some of us are meant to dream To chase starlight and dance with wild thoughts and untamed spirits

Maybe some of us are meant to feel everything deeper To see magic Whispers of wonder Glimpses of eternity

Maybe some of us are meant to be dreamers Visionaries The odd ones out Or perhaps eternally searching

Maybe there’s some of us who fall hard and trust deeply Who keep their hearts unlocked Standing in the storm A whispered truth A promise And souls that say I understand

Maybe there’s some of us who worship dawn breaks Who weep at ocean waves And find God in garden soil

Maybe there’s some of us who live for the wind-swept moments The barefoot and breathless Wild-eyed And sun-kissed days

Maybe there’s some of us who love earth-deep Who read your silence Who breathe your name And need nothing but your presence

Maybe there’s some of us who still chase fireflies Who smile at shadows And heal broken wings

Maybe there’s some of us who believe in magic Growing through darkness In truth Beauty And in hearts learning to beat again

Maybe there’s some of us that wander off-map That forge unnamed paths That write our own stories Or let them write themselves

Maybe there’s some of us Who’d rather burn bright Than simply smolder Who trust the unknown Our instincts And follow them like ancient stars

Maybe these dreamers exist

Maybe we’re not so alone after all.

Men Don't Cry

Men don't cry. So I destroyed my liver;

Each drink a desperate act of forgetting,

The whiskey glass empty, like my heart,

Until numbness replaced the hurting.

Men don't cry. So I destroyed my lungs,

Made them a temple of smoke and ash,

Each exhale carrying unspoken words,

The stories I was never meant to tell.

Men don't cry. So I turned to poison,

Found solace in artificial bliss,

Chemical embraces in the dark

When human touch seemed too much to ask.

Men don't cry. This is what they preached,

Be strong, be silent, swallow your pain.

Weakness is for lesser men, they said,

As if tears could wash away our worth.

So we found different ways to bleed,

Through needles, bottles, reckless speed.

Dancing with death seemed easier somehow

Than letting one tear escape and fall.

They never told us tears could heal,

That strength lies in what we dare to feel.

Instead, we learned to self-destruct,

Because real men don't cry, they break.

Starlit Echos

Each heartbeat drums a rhythm now

That matches ripples on the lake,

Where memories float like phantom lights

Across the waters in their wake.

Our wooden raft, weather-worn and wise,

Cradles us in its gentle sway,

While darkness wraps around us both

Like velvet at the close of day.

The loons cry out their mournful song

A primal echo of my yearning,

While spring peepers weave silver notes

Through reeds where fireflies are burning.

Your face—oh god, your precious face

Holds stories written in starlight,

Each feature sculpted by the dark,

Then gilded by the cosmic night.

I watch the Milky Way reflect

Within your eyes of midnight blue,

While shooting stars streak overhead

As if they’re falling just for you.

The air tastes sweet with pine and mint,

Night-blooming flowers scent the breeze,

Our fingers touch like questions asked

Beneath the watching pine trees.

Such perfect silence fills the space

Between each breath we dare to take,

While time stands still and hearts beat loud

Across the mirror of the lake.

Now years have passed, yet still I feel

The wooden planks beneath my palm,

Still hear your whispered wonderings

Float upward through that sacred calm.

My heart—it aches with such sweet pain,

Each pulse a tide that draws me back

To that dark night upon Star Lake

Where love blazed bright against the black.

These memories burn like northern lights,

Too fierce and precious to forget

The night that nature held its breath

To watch our souls in starlight met.

I’d trade a thousand tomorrows

To drift once more upon that sea,

Where universe and heart were one,

And you were there to share with me.

Star Lake Reverie

Adrift in darkness absolute,

Save for the heaven’s scattered light

That catches in your eyes and weaves

A constellation new tonight.

The loons’ wild song across the waves

Mingles with peepers’ evening choir,

While gentle ripples meet our raft

Like whispers of shared desire.

Your face, moon-kissed and starlight-blessed,

Glows softer than the Milky Way

A beacon in this perfect dark

That makes me wish that time would stay.

Words falter, fail, and float away

Like leaves upon the mirrored lake.

This moment burns within my soul:

A flame that time can never take.

The universe spreads out above,

Below, around—yet all I see

Is how the starlight frames your smile,

This perfect night, just you and me.

Some memories fade like morning mist,

But this one’s etched in silver-bright

Your radiance amid the stars,

Our hearts as one upon that night.

Midsummer’s Spell

Time dissolves like sugar in the dark,

Each hour sweeter than the last,

As words flow soft as summer wind

Till neither future lives nor past.

The night air wraps around us warm,

July’s breath honey-thick and sweet,

While crickets keep their gentle time

To match our hearts’ sustained beat.

Your hair, caught in the starlight’s grace,

Releases hints of summer rain,

Of wildflowers drunk with sun,

Of secrets I can’t quite explain.

Beneath the wheeling summer stars,

Each word between us floats and weaves

Like fireflies that dance and drift

Through shadows of the willow leaves.

Your laughter ripples cross the lake,

A sound more precious than the loons,

While stories spill like scattered stars

Through endless summer afternoons.

The warmth of you pressed close to me

Outshines the summer’s fevered heat

Your arms, a haven I have found

Where heaven and earth so softly meet.

I breathe you in like evening air:

Sweet clover, moss, and something more—

A scent that speaks of summer dreams

I’ve never dared to dream before.

Hours pass like shooting stars,

Too swift, too bright, too dear to hold,

Yet each moment burns deeper still

Than any story ever told.

Your head rests gentle on my chest,

Hair spilling silk across my skin,

While conversation ebbs and flows

Like waves that pull the moonlight in.

If I could bottle up this night

This essence of a summer’s dream:

Your warmth, your scent, your midnight voice,

The way our quiet words stream

I’d wear it like a talisman

Against the winters yet to come,

To bring me back to this still night

Where two hearts beat as one.

For in the heat of summer’s peak,

With stars strewn thick as heaven’s lace,

I found my world could all exist

Within your warm embrace.