•The Better Men•
For the longest time of my life,
I was mocked for being different.
Some did so upfront, in my face
Some spoke of it behind the curtains.
They used some words, foul and ignoble,
And assumed what was better for me.
Some smirked and some were wildly vocal
Of traits they found missing in me.
Traits, they said, that make up "men".
Stout shoulders and firm hands,
Knack for sports and some violence
And the guts to rule over God's lands.
For when I felt weak and shed a tear,
They asked me to harden my balls.
And when I expressed my deepest fears,
They dismissed saying "Men don't fear at all"
But why is it when they hurt the modesty
Of women, children and endless names
They choose to digress and believe,
That "NOT ALL MEN ARE THE SAME".
Yet on grounds of far less grief,
They choose to put me to shame.
I may not be like the rest of them.
The ones who conform,
Conform to the norms.
Norms they believe God made,
Which even when the centuries fade
Will continue to haunt me in my escapades.
At what point exactly did we start to believe,
That we worked better, typified as a gender?
Why can't they let just each one be,
As was intended by the Creator?
Aren't we all made of the same dust and bones?
But with a soul to tell us apart.
And won't our names end up on tombstones?
And string up in the same weft and warp?
Then why in the time we get to live,
Are we unsolicitedly made to believe
We don't fit into the likes of the ideal kind?
That we are, but, one of a kind.
But aren't we all one of a kind?
For a billion people, a billion souls
With hearts that ache and confused minds,
Playing the field in our own roles.
So don't tell me I'm doing it wrong
Because it is unlikely of a man.
Just see, if as a human being
I'm fulfilling the Creator's bigger plan.
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