A poem by Sabrina Samone
I didn't say yes to a man. I said, yes I will, to a king amongst men.
Now don't let his biology for one second give any doubt to his hetero sexuality, he was a man through and through.
Even through the 15 foot wall he had to carry around him, to protect the delicacies of his 5'4 frame, he was anything but delicate.
He was a man through and through.
He was The Honey Mooners meets Red Foxx, with a dash of Andy Griffin, a sprinkle or two of John Wayne and a whole lot of Stanley; from Street Car Named Desire.
He was a man through and through.
With Popeye arms, tattoos, and the occasional T rage, I would find myself smiling so in love as he flexed, grunted and posed.
He was a man through and through.
He relished in it. That masculinity I had fled like the final Armageddon; he swam it, drunk in every ounce, and surrendered to it with such ease.
He was a man through and through.
His 1950's traditionalism often clashed with my feminism, as misogyny sometimes to me,
but I knew I was his Queen, and felt the value of what that means,
cause he was a man through and through.
While most men lazily discard their masculinity he fought and fought for his like a Roman warrior. Still this world wouldn't always see my man through and through.
From his earliest days he heard he was not enough, the mirror lied, and the pain of once not being him, he no matter what, could never hide.
I bet you don't know, that there was nothing he couldn't do. Nothing he couldn't fix, couldn't learn, couldn't focus on.
All the things you were told of what makes a man, it was effortless for him.
Yet, the world would never see my man through and through.
If I'm the pink cloud and he the blue, the enemy was the white chasm we could not get society to let us through.
The hate killed his soul, with every troubling 'not enough ' thought,
of every sip of not good enough,
with every let down that screamed to him not man enough.
This world wouldn't see my man through and through.
While I carried a small banner of my people and worked like many in the revolution,
your world was his revolution.
To take him as the man he was,
respect him just as a man,
was the revolution he quietly fought.
As I, his only support and connection to the cause, he was all yours world while I watched.
Watching you never seeing my man through and through.
Why was it so hard world, to let a man be the king he was always meant to be.
Why take from a queen the only connection to her own soul she would ever know.
How I wish, you could have saw my man, for the man he was through and through.
Thanks to you world, I will wonder the rest of my days just wishing it had been so.
I didn't say yes to a man. I said, yes I will, to a king amongst men.
Now don't let his biology for one second give any doubt to his hetero sexuality, he was a man through and through.
Even through the 15 foot wall he had to carry around him, to protect the delicacies of his 5'4 frame, he was anything but delicate.
He was a man through and through.
He was The Honey Mooners meets Red Foxx, with a dash of Andy Griffin, a sprinkle or two of John Wayne and a whole lot of Stanley; from Street Car Named Desire.
He was a man through and through.
With Popeye arms, tattoos, and the occasional T rage, I would find myself smiling so in love as he flexed, grunted and posed.
He was a man through and through.
He relished in it. That masculinity I had fled like the final Armageddon; he swam it, drunk in every ounce, and surrendered to it with such ease.
He was a man through and through.
His 1950's traditionalism often clashed with my feminism, as misogyny sometimes to me,
but I knew I was his Queen, and felt the value of what that means,
cause he was a man through and through.
While most men lazily discard their masculinity he fought and fought for his like a Roman warrior. Still this world wouldn't always see my man through and through.
From his earliest days he heard he was not enough, the mirror lied, and the pain of once not being him, he no matter what, could never hide.
I bet you don't know, that there was nothing he couldn't do. Nothing he couldn't fix, couldn't learn, couldn't focus on.
All the things you were told of what makes a man, it was effortless for him.
Yet, the world would never see my man through and through.
If I'm the pink cloud and he the blue, the enemy was the white chasm we could not get society to let us through.
The hate killed his soul, with every troubling 'not enough ' thought,
of every sip of not good enough,
with every let down that screamed to him not man enough.
This world wouldn't see my man through and through.
While I carried a small banner of my people and worked like many in the revolution,
your world was his revolution.
To take him as the man he was,
respect him just as a man,
was the revolution he quietly fought.
As I, his only support and connection to the cause, he was all yours world while I watched.
Watching you never seeing my man through and through.
Why was it so hard world, to let a man be the king he was always meant to be.
Why take from a queen the only connection to her own soul she would ever know.
How I wish, you could have saw my man, for the man he was through and through.
Thanks to you world, I will wonder the rest of my days just wishing it had been so.
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