WhatBeingAManIs

I’m 19 years old.
Turning 20. Almost done being a teenager.
And I’m trying to figure out how to grow up to be a man.

I don’t drink,
I try my hardest not to swear or fight
The only car I’ve ever had control over was a Hot Wheels
And the only tool I know how to use is a screwdriver.

And while they may want you to think otherwise…
I am a hopeless romantic.
Just like so many others.
See I’ve never had a crush on a girl
But I fall in love 5 times a day.
And as much as I hate to admit it
I’m just as shallow as all the people I tend to look down on
Thinking they only use girls for sex
When I only want to use you for love.

Though just like many of them
I’ve grown way too realistic
Too cynical
And convinced myself that dreams aren’t worth having these days.
See, when I was younger
I had dreams of being a firefighter, a lawyer, a chef,
A veterinarian, a superhero, a Power Ranger, a teacher,
And a priest, but now I think I’ve lost sight of God when he’s everywhere.

And sometimes I want to cry.
But I can’t, because society’s taught me
That it’s not alright for me to do so
But it’s okay to masturbate….and be proud of it.
And that you should never fall in love
Cos it just hurts too much.
That you should go after the fast girls
And drive even faster.
To enjoy explosions
And to never be content with silence.

That men don’t write poetry.
Well, then I’M SORRY.
I’m sorry I still have to audacity to dream
And try and write with words that I hope will inspire someone to learn
What being a man really is because I don’t know anymore.

They tell us to be big shots and CEO’s
Never artists, but I draw the line
When we treat people like soldiers
And soldiers like chess pieces
Hiding in castles
While we sacrifice pawns to hold down blocks
Check mates in clubs, while taking L’s at night
And bury our hearts with spades
But never treat our queens like we should.
And oil pipes are like bloodlines pumping millions into pockets
Leaving millions out of pocket
So we can never afford what we’re chasing after
While we work at jobs we settled for
For things we can’t buy that we never really wanted
Because we’ve been taught to want them.
And fashion’s synonymous with confidence
And material possessions substitute for morals
Empathy is optional
And a head nod can pass for understanding.

But these days, it just gets harder and harder
Though I think I’ve finally found God in myself.
Grew up to be everything I ever wanted to be, all at once
And started dreaming again.

See, I want to be a man.
Have the guts to fall in love…with my family
And love them like it was the only thing I’ve ever done correctly.
Try to be the best person I can be
Leaving nothing but good memories behind.
Trying to slow everything down
On the way to finding out what being a man really is.

IStillDon'tLoveYou..

At the time it seemed absurd, and I thought I just misheard when she told me that she loved me. Then I had to fight the urge, to repeat the same words that I knew she was expecting from me. So I mustered up the nerve, gave her the truth that she deserved and so I told her I don’t love you. But it’s not that I don’t love you, not that I can’t love you, it’s more of the fact that I don’t want to.

But this isn’t an apology, more like a request to be an anomaly. To take “love” and define it on our own terms. ‘Cos currently, I know there’s something wrong with me when I can write a definition like it’s homework. At this rate, it’s closer to make believe. But I’d turn Christopher Reeves, wear my heart on my sleeve, like Toronto players and a maple leaf. A cliché definition is all we’re really left with and I hate it. ‘Cos you alone make me feel like…some word that hasn’t even been invented yet…I’m infloveuated.

Because making up a word is my only option. ‘Cos love is now casual, thrown around with no need to be factual, and destroyed its original intent like antitoxin. So going by those standards, I bear my gold standard and say that I still can’t love you. But I would exchange eloquent banter, until I get shot down like Jordan Manners and I regret never having said I loved you…But the word is already dead to me. Though I’d repeat it for the sake of having more time with you, to convince you even just in passing through, that to me you’re beyond heavenly. Though I still can’t love you.

See, those who have ‘loved’ and have ‘been loved’ have already been through enough…They’ve been misused, mistreated, misunderstood, abused and ignored and dragged through the rough…patches of relationships. Through the rocky roads and nights spent in the solace of cookies and cream courtesy of Oreos and a broken heart. Crying with a runny nose, left only with tissues and tears when the relationship falls apart. So that’s why I just can’t love you…

But I must admit, you’re hard to quit ‘cos you’re the best thing that’s happened to me, since the day that I discovered poetry. Tryna catch signs, dodging landmines, forgetting there was a time when you didn’t come first for me. But you’re closer to my life line, try to cut mine…your scissors break like in Hercules. I don’t want to be your lover…I want to be more like the best of friends. ‘Cos in relationships, all it takes is one mistake for the best to end. And the words “I love you” won’t be enough for these two hearts and the rest to mend. And as your bestest friend, I’ll hold your heart next to mine in a chest with the best defense. But secretly, I just want to have a future with you. Regardless of the relationship we’d share for the years to come, now I’m seeming dumb, ‘cos I was the one there for you when you were back on the market in a game of one, that no one’s won.

So forget labeling affection, it only leads in misdirection, so trust that I’d avoid saying that line at all. Even with appropriate exclamation, it’s all in the interpretation of those 3 words that defines it all. I. Love. You.
3 words that only matter as much as it does to those involved. And trust me when I say it…‘cos it means I’d catch you every time you fall, answer the phone every time you call and share a personal moment with you from across the hall. But that doesn’t mean everyone else feels the same, yet I’d risk the potential pain, for all the potential gain, even when our backs are against the wall.

If only I could read your mind…I would ask if you were willing to help me redesign the term. See I don’t love you. I…can’t love you. And I don’t want to. You see…I’m already infloveuated.

IDon'tLoveYou

This one’s for you…I hope it explains everything

I don’t love you. It’s not that I don’t. And it’s not that I can’t. It’s because I don’t want to love you.

See…I refuse to let what we have be generalized into something any less specific than how we define it ourselves. How we feel about each other. How we see ourselves. And how we explain it.

Music, movies and poetry, can’t say as much as I could. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I could either. You make me feel like…some word that hasn’t even been invented yet…I’m infloveuated.

Because a made up word is the only way I can tell you how I feel. Not through this poem, not through the many I’ve written you. And not through the songs I’ve written for you…But through a word that means more than “love”. A word that hasn’t been used so many times and thrown around so casually it’s lost its true meaning.

You see…that’s exactly what’s happened to “love”. I still hold it by the same standards as William Shakespeare and Pablo Neruda. But the people like me in this world are running out. While you are incomparable.

Yet I still can’t love you.

But I’d actually say that I loved you, for the sole purpose of keeping your attention for a few minutes longer while I finish this poem.

Then maybe you’d see that I can’t really love you…Nor do I want to.

Because those who have ‘loved’ and have ‘been loved’ have already been through enough. They have been misused, mistreated, abused, misunderstood and ignored.
Just like the word. And just like its meaning.

Love’s been bandied about too much. From countless love songs to Hallmark cards, it’s not as personal as it used to be. It used to mean something. It used to mean you actually “loved” something. Now it just means you like it a lot.

He might “love” you. But I love banana Slurpees from 7-11. So you’re obviously equal to a frozen, artificial beverage…So what should you believe?

I don’t put faith in a single word that’s supposed to embody the deepest of human emotions. One that consists of a single syllable. So instead, I craft a picture with a thousand words.
Though not one of them say that I want to love you.

There’s no word for the bond that I want to share with you. A bond that gives me superpowers just being close to you. A bond that makes me rethink about my entire outlook on life and look at it in another way. A bond that makes me want to grow up, be mature and suit up. A bond that makes me wish that I had met you the day I was born. Because I can look back and regret every single second I’ve spent without you in my life.


I’m not talking about 007…I’m talking about a bond that makes me write down every single thing I like about you, then try to decide if I love them, or if I just like them. But I just can’t seem to finish the list. I’m talking about a bond where I know exactly what you’re thinking. A bond where I can finish your sentences…but I don’t, because the sound of your voice sets my soul on fire.
Don’t get it wrong…I don’t love you.

But I do want to be like your living, breathing diary. The one you open your heart to when you have no one else to talk to. Fill me in…fill me up with words as I let the ink sink into every crevice and every pore, and I come to understand you better than anyone else ever could.
Though I still couldn’t love you.

But I do want to be there for you. I want to be the ear you confide in, the eyes you gaze into, the hand you hold and the shoulder you cry on. But most of all, I want to be the one that puts a smile on your face.

I want to share a connection so deep, that the fathoms of my heart and my mind intertwining with yours could be bridged from across the universe. With thoughts alone, I could share with you, the most intimate conversation from across a crowded room. I want to be your BFF. So that no matter how mad we get at each other, we couldn’t stay that way for long. Then as quickly as it all started, we make up and everything would be fine again because we know each other will always be there.

But “love” won’t. It’s on life support and there’s nothing we can do to make the notion of love last longer. I think it’s time to pull the plug and restart with a whole other concept, and a whole other word. A word that means more than what “love” has devolved into.

But we could get together and recreate everything that that word was supposed to mean. Erase the undefined, yet cliché definition of it, and rewrite it ourselves with invisible ink. Because no one else needs to see it. You see, love is a whole lot like faith. And it’s a whole lot like the wind. You know it’s there, but you can’t see it. Neither can you explain it.

It’s the same way how I feel about you. And I’m pretty sure it’s not “love” I’m feeling.
Because I don’t love you…and I can’t love you. Neither do I want to.

You see…I’m already infloveuated.

Definition

So here's a little a little blurb of spoken word. With no topic in mind, I put the pen down and write. Curves and circles creating letters which form so much more. From gloomy twilight skies, to sunny afternoons. I can accurately describe them all with words. But so many things are undefined. I can't even begin to describe them. Zero search results found when I Google'd the term.

And that term is love and what is is to me. But what is it really? And I come to the conclusion that an image is worth far more than a thousand words. So I place a picture of you next to a scribbled definition. But it's neither a noun, a verb, an adjective or a pronoun...it's just you and me. The pronunciation guide is a play button. A simple conversation between you and me. Engaged in romantic interlock about who loves the other more. Going back and forth until one of us gives up. Until one day we give up on the belief of you and me. That's when the wavelength starts to fade away...and so does the image of you and me.

Then the hues in the photograph desaturate into nothingness. And once again I'm left with another made up definition of love and no one to share it with.