Destinations: Poetry, Pros, and Creative Writing

The Void of my Internal Rage

Funeral

When you deliver my eulogy will it be all the good things I've done or all the sins I've committed? Will it be resounding love or chaotic resentment? Will it be joy or will it be pain?

Will butterflies biting bullets fly past my funeral service? Floating by as I'm lowered into the ground. At my devastating, frustrating, indulging funeral. Let the sirens sound as I join the earth. At my funeral.

Will my elegies explain to me? Or will my casket be carried by fake friends that are my real foes? It isn't that I'm concerned about my legacy. I couldn't care less. Rather I'm concerned that with my absence the world will remain unchanged and I'll continue to be irrelevant.

At my funeral I'm the center of attention. In life I was the epicenter of attention, but my heart was empty and my soul was twisted into a knot I could not untie.

My casket is a dark oak with gold engravings. But what appears on the inside is a rotting body. Just like my outward expressions are beautiful, my internal struggles are hidden and thriving.

Gather in black. At my funeral. Gather in sorrow. At my funeral.

Pain is temporary. Suffering is forever.

Don't shoot down the butterflies biting bullets, because they are the only figment that remains of me.

At my funeral.

Emotionally Dry

Look back into your childhood. Have you ever been told to man up?

As you started to grow into your manhood, was there ever a point where you teared up?

Then you remember boys aren't supposed to cry, men are supposed to be emotionally dry.

Men are taught that we need to rule the home,

men are taught we need not let our minds roam.

The toxic culture that surrounds masculinity,

is the reason some men bleed into insanity.

We are the tormentors of those who differ from us, this stems from the oppression we force on ourselves.

I don't know what it means to be expressive, because lord knows that isn't a quality of a real man.

Men don't cry, we are emotionally dry.

Tears are left for mourning and weddings.

My insecurities constantly get the best of me,

but I can't talk about them because then I'll be weak.

I guess this is the only way it can be!

I'm so stone minded like a robot trained to understand nothing but wilted flowers.

It leaves nothing else to tweak.

My depression is formed from my pent up feelings.

The only reason I keep going is so I don't leave the ones I love left up in their blue feelings.

My body doesn't meet my satisfaction, I feel as though I can't be valued with my current incarnation.

We forget about the way words affect men, it is difficult for the outside world to fathom what I wrestle with in my mind on a daily basis.

As much as I want to believe things can change, the pressure of the outside world is beginning to cave in, no one is here for me, nobody cares.... I am a man and I am sad, but everywhere in the world tells me men can't be sad. Although this is a wrong thought, in the end it is the last thing I ever thought.