with war drums
i’m a savage
with a monks hums
bring your violence,
bring your brokenness
I like watching the inability of men, of women even to reconcile masculinity with femininity.
To balm a gentle core with a rigid outer shell.
To dress hard and scarred skin with the cloak of velvety caring.
As if their mind is about to implode, they cannot reconcile the two.
You’re either this or that.
Boys have to fit their models of detached masculinity or detached femininity.
Parents unable to teach their children the art of both.
Confronting then are men with fists ready to clench but tongues moist with wisdom.
Worse than extremists of either type, they are the ultimate scapegoat to disengage from reality, that we’re able to be whole, able to generate compassion and a fiery rage ready for battle and war or mending wounds.
I’m Love with war drums is a short line I wrote a while ago which I decided to expand a little.