Virulent.

As the first fleecy snowflakes fall to the ground, 
then disappear, in winter, 
it floats through the skies on the gentlest breeze, 
as quiet as a whisper. 

Blink and you will miss it—it is smaller than a sliver. 
Delicate as crystal and nearly twice as brittle,
one misstep and it will shatter;
decorating the ground like shrapnel. 

Feeble as a fleece slipper 
sliding across a cotton floor;
it has become as frail as origami

made of candy floss, sold by the seashore. 

Programmed to roar although 
all it can muster is a single pathetic mew, 
striving to be bold 
but it is only the lightest hues. 

Dainty like the breaking dawn 
and its glistening, gossamer dew, 
it secretly dreams of being steel 
but is soft as stained glass over pews. 

Society is to blame 
for this fragile masculinity, 
that brainwashes boys into 
becoming men who are afraid to feel. 

This misunderstood manliness 
is more timid than the shrew, 
as it tells males their ideas 
are best expressed through abuse. 

"Boys don't cry," we're told, 
encouraging us to be aggressive, 
until our repressed emotions return, 
with a vengeance, as depression. 

Being masculine is not 
the opposite of being feminine, 
all it takes to be a man 
is to simply identify as one. 

Unless we refuse to accept their opinions, 
nothing can ever change. 
We must rally together and reject 
their toxic masculinity that reigns.