BY GUSTAVO PINEIRO
In the aftermath of manufacturing insatiable feelings of lust
I lie here waiting to be held
Protecting my innocence like some ancient Mongolian warrior protecting its future king,
I am willing to put my life on the line
And appear much bigger than myself
To hide the grieving child inside of me.
So there I was being held by the woman of the night
Who was there only temporarily to warm my sheets
And lend me her maternal instincts
To cradle me
As I lay there
In the fetal position.
It was there in that moment
That I gave birth to
And held the little child,
My younger self,
The child that was continually
Neglected and love malnourished.
I never fathomed
Nor felt
The profundity
Of the pain
My inner boy held.
How could I ??
I was too busy protecting him
Even from my grown self
To realize I did not know;
Whilst I tussled
With the pillow sanctioned in between my thighs
And seeking the warm embrace of the mother’s touch
That the little boy inside
Was being smothered
Amongst the fabric
And the sweat from my body
Unable to breath,
To be heard,
And to be healed.
How can I nurture a little boy to become a man
When I was not nurtured that way???
When instead
I had to learn
To be tame
And separate myself from my pure raw essence
In order to fit in.
The little boy inside has been screaming
To be heard
But often silenced
By the blaring siren
Of thoughts
Of becoming more,
Producing more,
Making more money
And not being good enough.
It was hard for me to be still in the silence,
For in that silence
I would get glimpses and
Hear the shrieks
Of that little boy.
The desperation to be heard,
To be coddled,
To be nurtured,
To be healed.
No wonder I could not rest.
I constantly tossed and turned.
Navigating whether to be held
Or lie there in solace
Between the cool sheets.
Anything
To not feel
The little boys anxiety,
Pain
But more importantly
Feel the untamed animal
That he represented
And that I carried within.
The very animalistic essence
Was begging
To be freed
From this cage.
To love without limits,
Without conditions
Or strategies,
Without the fear of being hurt.
For on those rare occasions
When I listened,
I mean really listened,
To the shrieks
Of that little boy inside
Of my essence
As I laid in the fetal position
Trying to protect him
While strangling the pillow
The tears would roll down my face
Because I knew that my animal,
The innocence of that little boy,
Was being caged
Incarcerated
By the stigmas of society
To fit in.
I also wondered
What would it be like to escape;
To plan a full all out jailbreak
Of my animal inner self,
The little boy?
Who could help me?
Once fully reunited
Where would I go?
How would life look like?
Was I really willing to annihilate
All that I know
To explore the unknown?
I don’t know but,
I know that I need to take the chance
Tto molt,
To metamorphosize,
To mend the person
I proclaim myself to be
With my inner self,
My animal,
The little boy.
I am starting to understand the saying
Heal the boy
And the man shall appear
For to become a father
I first must learn
To be a son.
Maybe all these years
I laid in the fetal position
Seeking warmth
From a strange woman’s outstretched arm
And the heat of her body
Cradling me
I was really seeking a surrogate mother
To nurture me
So I can feel like a son again.
No wonder I had such a hard time being a house-binder.
Finally
I think I am ready
To turn over on my side,
To hold my woman,
Not just someone
Who was there
To pass
The night away
And
Warm my sheets,
As a man
With strength
And vulnerability
Understanding that
I don’t have to protect
That little boy,
My inner self,
My animal
Any more
Because
He has become me….
And I am healed.
And I am husband.
And I am father.
I AM FREE!!!!
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