Love.
A word.
Not so very strange.
A word from which, darling,
I’ve been ever so estranged.
Not because I’m unloved—
Heavens no—
That would be a lie,
But because, despite my smile,
I cry—I wonder why
I want to die.
And, even though I know it’s a lie,
No matter how damn hard I try
To tell myself, “Love, it’s okay to cry”,
I still suck it up like a man—
No need to ask why—
And hide those tears inside the sky.
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Online)
- Published: July 5th, 2025 07:45
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Comments1
Intricate rhyme woven in a persistently formed gender specific cultural training of male toughness and emotionlessness image that persists despite knowledge to its contrary. How persistent is the effects of cultural expectation and past learning. How we are stuck in the cement of our past learning and culture. Even the roots of knowledge have a hard time breaking cracks in this pavement. Very nice a fave
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