
I know how bad it is
because I know how bad I was.
And I wasn’t even trying to injure or offend.
But, like so many before me, I was a human
hard-on—all aggressive hands and unsubtle tongue,
insecurities abounding and desires that were needs
which, for men, approximate emergencies.
We know nothing else except what we crave,
so we invade tiny towns and leave burnt buildings,
broken glass, and blood in our barbaric wake.
Subsequently, we send flowers—or tell secrets
that, translated, sound something like concession.
—
You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism |
Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box |
The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer |
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White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism
Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box
The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer

