By Avni Agarwal
Words fail to escape my mouth,
As I try to speak, my voice feels heavy, and my eyes feel weak.
Something bothers me, I just don't know what.
Is it the fact that I'm a man?
Or that a girl can cry freely but I cannot?
Is it the traumatising trap of society,
Confining me to act in a certain way?
Or the judgemental jaws of masculinity,
Clenching the words I wish to say?
Perhaps it's all of it, and I think,
After all, I'm a man.
I am meant to be strong,
No matter how much it makes my soul shrink.
I can feel broken too, sometimes.
But dare I shed a single tear down my painful eyes?
No matter how much it hurts, I am still a man, and men don't cry.
This is what I've been telling myself.
This is what I've been told.
That I don't need to cry.
That I'm tough and bold.
You talk about feminism, about equality and rights,
But does that not include us men?
Can we never choose pain over pride?
Who needs to tell them that men are mortals too?
They cannot be under the burden of the sapping strength
Which defines nothing about what they've been through.
Yes, I'm a man.
I cry, I worry, I care.
I crave affection,
As much as I desire and dare.
We might need a hug too.
But does that mean we don't have pride?
We don't say we're in pain.
But does that mean we have never cried?