No Mercy for the Silent Man

It’s hard being single,

pushing forty,

in a world where a man

must be everything—

but never too much of anything.

Strong—

but not so strong

that you seem unreachable.

Vulnerable—

but only in ways

that don’t make her uncomfortable.

Lead—

but never dominate.

Provide—

but never complain.

We’re told to care,

but not so much that it feels like need.

To speak,

but not so much that it steals her voice.

To protect,

but only from the things she agrees are dangerous.

We carry expectations

like bricks tucked in our ribs—

smile through stress,

laugh through pain,

and call it “being a man.”

We’re told to want a family,

then sacrifice time with them

in the name of duty—

yet still be present in every way

that counts.

We are supposed to be

the calm in every storm,

the rock in every tide,

the wall that never cracks,

the fire that never fades.

And still,

we must never look tired.

We love without condition,

forgive without limit,

and fall without safety nets.

We are taught

to carry the weight of the world

on our shoulders—

and do it with grace,

with silence,

with no parade.

Because a good man

asks for nothing,

wants for nothing,

and breaks—

beautifully,

quietly,

alone.