Listen to My Cries
Listen to my cries — as I testify.
I am tense,
struggling for sense,
the noise in my head far too immense.
I sit on the fence, live in pretence,
guard every thought in self-defence.
And if I confess this inner mess —
will I be judged, or granted redress?
Would honesty still be a capital offence?
Listen to my cries — as I testify.
I’m in a blender — my emotions collide,
spinning too fast with nowhere to hide.
I’m a dead-ender,
no cash to tender,
still, I tip the bartender.
I trade my truth for a swallow of lie,
sip by sip, watch my courage die.
If I surrender to this script,
am I betraying my pride —
or freeing the man inside?
Listen to my cries — as I testify.
I am no rock, just shock on a roadblock,
mind ticking like a fractured clock.
They say, “walk, talk, go see the doc,”
but what if the cure
makes me the mock —
a joke in a frock,
a whisper behind the locked door of talk?
Listen to my cries — as I testify.
I am living in damage, managing none.
Wage gone, rage won —
now anger’s my only tongue.
A hostage of habit, a caged bird undone,
my name erased before it begun.
I need a bandage, a voice, a friend —
but if I reach out, is that my end?
If I seek a sage, unmask the pain,
am I still to blame —
a burden to my own age and name?
Listen to my cries — as I testify.
I lie in my bed,
haunted by what’s unsaid.
The echo inside my head
turns whisper to dread.
I could shred the clutter,
let the truth uncover —
but if I utter what I feel,
does that make me weaker —
or more real?
Listen to my cries — as I testify.
If I were a woman, you’d listen.
You’d call it brave, not contradiction.
You’d name it healing, not defeat —
therapy, not retreat.
But here I stand,
in the shadow of expectation,
drowning in hesitation,
a man lost in translation.
And don’t forget the intoxication —
it’s medication, not recreation.
Listen to the lesson here —
so our burdens may lessen.
Listen to our cries — as we testify.
We will not minimise,
agonise, or disguise.
We are not broken, nor out of place,
not weak, not jokes, not a disgrace.
We are rock.
We are flame.
We are human, just the same.
And yes — we cry.
*Listen to our cries — as we testify…
Boys do cry.*
