Real Men Don’t Cry: A Poem on Masculinity, Pain, and Healing

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.