Don't you ever look into eyes,
And simply see the soul, the life inside?
You act like it's always an issue, some kind of
Benefit to them or deficit to you or another doubt of yours,
Sure, he's a man, so what?
His heart is beating, he's breathing just like you
Women, who think he's some dormant monster
Nurtured by tradition to be some evil force of chaos
Can't you see him laughing?
His expressions are simply his life,
There's no hatred or presuppositions in that
Deep and loud laugh, because it's just how he is
Do you feel his movement?
Warm and open, putting away all of the
Insecurities we subscribe to; he feels them, too,
But could it actually be courage, how he ignores them?
And these differences you bring up,
Like language, words, and physiology,
They exist, so what? He's just being a man,
As if you didn't wish for him to exist as he does,
To the feminists: I think you're wrong
About remaking the modern men I know and love,
In print-screen tees, wearing conservatism on their arms,
These strong yet mannered gentlemen subscribe to the original design.
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