pull out of the square holes

his emotions are scattered stars,
dangling from cloudless skies,
forming their own constellation,

light years away from the norms
that feed the stereotypes,
threatening to engulf him,
in the arms of presumed masculinity,

he, like the rest, whose lips,
have been sealed,
from uttering words emotion-laden,
lest ‘weakness’ becloud his manliness

this, my boy, is how for forebears
pocketed genuine blushes,
bottled up physiological bruises,
built biceps over broken hearts,
and drowned pain in bottles of b...