Standards have value

Standards
have
v a l u e

and still they keep me caged to solitude
because I am an immigrant
living in a community that neglects commitment

There’s a silent genocide occurring in my heart
Killing all the parts that keep me in tune with the things I hold true

Love – beyond the boundaries of beds, and condoms, and soft whispers from noncommittal sexual partners. Love – like music, permeating barriers of language, and distance, and thought – just a pure emotional phenomenon – that causes an orchestra of pleasure beyond verbal explication.

He was like the wind – blowing through parts of me that remained untouched
He had a swagger – that grabbed my attention – and a character that spoke with no words
He was gold
But he didn’t know – and so, he continued to fall victim to the life
Choosing mediocrity, while lacking foresight

And me…
I felt foreign
Like an immigrant transported to a strange land – finding familiar expression, yet struggling to understand – understand why good men…are impossible to find –

It’s due, in kind, to the lifestyle –
Or so I’ve been told…

Growing up sexualized, honoring stereotypes, lacking models of trust, of truth, of monogamy and giving into the idea that love is coming –
again and again and again –
because instant gratification, like ejaculation, offers temporary satisfaction –
but what happens when the ejaculation no longer satisfies your need for connection – when you become the stranger?

There’s a danger…
A danger in having standards
In holding true to what you know you are entitled to –
And honoring the man within you

The danger comes when you realize that most men trivialize their needs
And that by honoring your own
You could end up alone
And so…
Here I stand –
Struggling … in this foreign land –
Beckoning for an outstretched hand to help me feel connected…
To help me understand
That this…
This is how I become a man …
a man who has value…
and honors standards
And character
And commits to being loved the way a man should be loved

He – he was the one I wanted to love…
Completely,
Freely,
And totally
But he wasn’t ready…

So,
I bless him on his journey
And tend to my heart
So that the genocide doesn’t kill the loving parts…
And now, I understand
that being a man

means sometimes I will have to hold my own hand!