Closet Male

Somewhere between growing up in the punk/hardcore scene in Reno, and trying to date girls who were vegan, I stopped being a man. Stopped isn't quite the right word. I never became one. Growing up, maleness was a four-letter word. Masculinity was a brutish and vulgar attribute reserved for bros. 

As I've gotten older, I've gotten in touch with my masculine side. I spent twenty-five years reading books and writing poetry. Today I caught myself listening to metal while doing bench presses and thought, "Fuck. I'm a dude." And I'm okay with it.

Because I want to be Mel Gibson's warrior poet. I want to wear a peace sign on my helmet that reads, "Born to Kill." I want to be on the academy board that voted Rocky best picture in 1976 and Annie Hall the following year. I want to write The Iliad.

Courage, bravery, strength, nobility? Fuck yeah.
Logical, intelligence, sensitivity, kindness? Indeed.

I want both. All that is man. 

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