Take me back to when looking at you was a dare I challenged myself to.
Take me back to when staring at me was stolen in gaps of attention lapses.
I want to be spoken to with red cheeks of bashfulness.
Cheeks that make me look down in respect and avoid talking over you.
I long for the moments of timidness and mutual disarray.
I want your modesty to numb my masculinity.
My masculinity will embrace your femininity, make feminism redundant.
But if you want to use me as a doormat, you’ll receive my eyes of scorn, my full attention to your every flaw, my whip cracking voice that will make your cheeks red in shame, not bashfulness, my chin will be up, nose arrogantly pointing to the sky, brazen confidence, brazen hardness and tunnel vision. My masculinity will turn into nothing, your femininity will be nothing, we’ll both be reduced, to exist only as expressions of carnal disgust, dry, soulless and guards up, blow by blow we’ll find a fresh axe to chop each other down, until we’re firewood for our children to use.