ROAR! That’s what man is.
Man is RAW, RAGE and ROARS!
See my mane,
feel my cane,
hear my name
That’s it, man wants to ROAR
You will bow in my shadow
hold your tongue till I let it loose

Yet, beneath my mane is glass, see me
see the tremble in my throat before the roar,
I don’t know how many roars I can make till I crack
and I don’t know who will put me back together

Still, I ROAR

Sheathed in my manhood is a boy who saw the width
of his father’s chest and the breadth of his back
that carried the world, it carried the world
with no sweat or strain and so this boy
widened his back, stretched his chest
and roared.


The world is full of hyenas that laugh
teeth bared in the darkness, salivating for my demise,
i’m a man now, a man isn’t afraid of the dark
a man knows how to start a fire
a man doesn’t let hyenas live in his head.


I want to bury my face in your breasts and
fuck you like a man would.
Still, in my prime the petals beneath my ribs need your touch,
your kiss, your sunshine to shed my skin and tell me you love me,
be my pride not for what my paws provide but the lion you see.


I know that you know

but I need you to know
and know now
that all we have
for sure
is now.

This is why thoughts and intentions
don’t matter when we’ve got words and actions like:
Yes, No, I need you, stay,
I like it when you stroke my hair and scratch my scalp,
thanks for getting batteries for the remote,
the way you laugh makes me glad,
your podcast is dope,
I’m proud of you.
I love you bro.
Yeah I called, it’s not urgent but I want you to know
I appreciate you. I made pizza and I’m bringing it over.
It’s getting a Saturday latte with a mate and listening to what they say,
it’s being up at unreasonable hours for stupid reasons,
like 2am drives to the beach with warm maccy d’s
it’s ringing mum and dad or equivalents just to chat
it’s postcards from southern France,
hand written letters with foreign stamps,
it’s making time, it’s being there, it’s being here
it’s sheathing your tongue when acid brews in your gut,

it’s also letting dead things die whether they float or sink.

good words unspoken will mould and blue,
pride will rob you of light and turn your breath stale,
every now, we choose which fragrance to bloom.