By Tommy Airey
I’m about to tear this place up over
here—tear rhymes with dear, not
bear, got it? I’m ready for a
release, a timeout from counterfeit
masculinities, stripping my soul
away with a singular option for outlet:
anger. That’s a dangerous menu for white
male men going postal over years of
pent up pain and pressure to be part
lone ranger part method actor,
redacting our true selves, abusing the very
ones nurturing us back into humanity.
A spiritual discipline to unlearn
patriarchy: let it rain.