A letter to Emo

I thought you would be my rock.

Good times and bad.

This you swore.

This I believed.

Now, at the first sign of hardship

I find you are naught but a pebble:

A pebble crafted of sandstone.

Crumbling to dust when confronted by a mere trickle of adversity.

You want the world to see strength;

You said you were a bulwark behind which others could shelter.

But your ramparts and walls are but a facade:

A facade crafted of thin tissue.

A beautiful image daintily traced on a film of rice paper.

One little poke and it dissolves in a torrent of fears…

This is not manhood.

This is not strength.

This is a bully on the playground.

A bully who falls apart the instant someone fights back.

You show the world this crafted facade,

But cry in your pillow behind closed doors.

So, I am forced to shoulder both our loads

while propping you up as well.

You tell the world you are “manly.”

A paragon of virtue, strength, chivalry.

While inside you are a little boy crying for mama

Because someone took your teddy bear.

I am expected to be supportive of your blustering “masculinity”.

Heed your words, your promises of protection and support.

Promises written in sand scooped with a plastic shovel

As the tide rolls in …

Go to your gym- build up and kiss your biceps.

Stand in front of your mirror and admire your perceived superiority.

Muscles alone don’t make you a man.

Emotional maturity and resolve do.

I’m not your mother.

Pull up your big boy panties or go away.