I told her, “I’m a grown ass man.” Her reply was a simple stare before she turned and walked away. Before she reached the door, she turned around and said, “You really need to look in the mirror.” Then, she was gone.
I gaze into my eyes in the mirror. Who am I? Really? I am a man, right? I’ve heard it said that the eyes are the window to the soul. Is that true for the soulless? “But, I do have a soul,” I say trying to convince myself.
What do I see? What am I seeing? A man struggling emotionally and financially to raise his son. How can I raise him to be a man when I question my own manhood? What lessons am I teaching him in not being able to even provide for myself, and while complaining that his mother isn’t financially helping me?
I chose not to work to pursue writing music, yet I’m not really working on my music. Not one song is complete. I always have a reason.
Am I really a man when I look to a woman to grab my hand and lift me out of the hole I dug for myself and jumped into? Am I really a man when I criticize her by saying she’s acting like a man when I put her in that position? Exactly who am I? What type a person am I?
I listen only with the intent to respond and not to understand what is being said. I verbally lash out and expect to be treated and spoken to with respect and out of love. What kind of person am I who takes without regard to giving except when it benefits me?
Am I that person? My mouth says, “No.” The eyes looking back at me in the mirror say, “Yes.” “I am a man, right?” My mouths says, “Yes.” The eyes looking back at me in the mirror say, “No.”
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