your labyrinth of manly things

does it smell like
gym socks and the acrid tang
of manly sweat? and what
does it look like?
does it have a pullup bar
and a wet bar, or all the platforms
for playing video games?
a pool table, or a poster
of Megan Fox, or Scarlett
Johansson? an electric
guitar, and all the pedals?
some nun-chuks, or maybe a
samurai sword? a bong, or
three? comic books? or all
of the above?

is it a place
where you go to get away
from all those pesky females
with their inscrutable minds
and inaccessible bodies?

do you hide away in your cave,
your self-imposed cage,
and think about life?

does it
help?

a rare sight

I used to think
when I was getting dressed
to go out for the night, as I
put on my underwear, about how
it didn’t matter if
they were cute, because no one
would see them.

lately
that has changed. that’s why
when you complimented
my underwear
the other night,
I was taken
aback. I forgot
that now someone
might get
to see them.
I’d better step up
my underwear game.

relationship type

here is what
I am used to
when it comes to a
relationship: I martyr
myself and let him
get away with murder.
no one understands what
I see in him because he
picks fights with others and
he’s so utterly different
when we’re alone. but
crying over him gives me
something to be dramatic and
put upon about, almost a
purpose, definitely a cross
to bear.

Continue reading relationship type