Controlled Chaos

I need to break things;
I need to feel stronger and more permanent
than empty promises,
ceramic mugs,
taunt skin,
human hearts.
I need to feel the earth shatter around me;
I need to crack the sun open on her head
and swallow the moon whole;
I need to bathe in a harmonic chaos
of my own creation.

– when they ask me why I did it

His Second Poem

I have a theory
that you’re secretly afraid of what others think,
that your freckles spell others’ opinions
and you that wear their thoughts like a flag.
I have a theory
that you were not born to this paranoia,
rather it was thrust upon you
with a football and a vow of manhood,
signed in your blood.
I have a theory
that you used to recite the list of expectations for men
with pride and longing;
you wanted to be strong one day,
and you were willing to sacrifice
the colour pink,
Disney movies,
playing dress-up,
singing in the car,
hanging out with me –
if it meant you could stay out late
with the cool boys from gym class.
I have a theory
that the mask in masculinity
is only there for you to hide behind,
that you are still the same boy
I was once scared to hold,
that one day you’ll realize
you don’t have to “act like a man”
in order to be a great one.
I have a theory
that somewhere between calling your action figures “Barbies”
and painting your toenails to match mine
you learned to hate your own femininity
and I can’t help but blame
your big sister.