Son of my mother

I was raised by my mother, who was quiet, petite, and strong,
She taught me about respect, courtesy, and pointed out when I was wrong.
I opened doors for her, listened to her, so she gave me freedom,
I thrived as a little man, I kindly ruled my own kingdom.
I mowed the yard, fixed the toilets, and always studied before going out to play,
I got older, I became handsome, hormones raged, yet I knew better than to sway.
A father figure to me, was an incomplete box of pieces for a game,
Which left me to distrust my maleness, around females I was lame.
My mom found the light with some, yet was then left empty and broken,
I picked up her pieces and was careful not to be become a similar male token.
She raised me to be responsible, reliable, open minded, and honest,
This translated over time to being strong while remaining the calmest.
I lead teams to victories, I hug friends that are suffering, I challenged minds in debate.
I look at life sideways, I study people and things, always geared to create.
Today, as a man with decades, a wife, and proud father of two,
I still open doors, search for passion, gather game pieces, and strive to be true.

I’ve been struggling lately to understand why I feel so alone as a man. I don’t identify with many “masculine” traits (cars, sports, technology, gear), yet I feel the need to prove or be recognized for my masculinity at times. Writing it out seems a bit petty but it is true, I feel like an atomoton picking up the pieces of life without feeling alive as a man. More later…if I don’t press publish on this, I will continue to edit. -FG


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