Em

if you find me in a field laying down, counting blades of grass and watching clouds pass, i am not alone.

yes once this meant i was clueless, lost, a worthless bag of bones. i spent years chasing answers carved in stone. every person offering a voice and a road that is not my own.

but i’ve learned, you must find truth in quiet places where no one speaks above a gentle tone.

for you see, the birds do not ask me what i own. the river does not care about mistakes i’ve made or seeds i’ve never sown. the mountains never judge the storms i’ve known.

so when you find me in a field one day, staring toward the great unknown. do not mistake my silence for a sadness i have not outgrown. for i have found a little peace beneath this endless sky we’ve all been shown,

I’m only 27 years old, but I’ve already attended more funerals for my fellow young men than I ever should have.

I’ve lost friends. I’ve watched peers disappear from this world long before they had the chance to become who they were meant to be.

A lot of men are raised to believe that struggling should be private. That pain is something you carry, but never to be shared. We’re taught to hold it down, tough it out, and figure it out ourselves. To be dependable. To be strong. To never cry. To never be weak.

So many men become experts at suffering in silence.

We learn how to say “I’m good” as we stand on the ledge. We learn how to joke through depression, work through exhaustion, and bury pain and grief under other’s needs, substances, and material possession—we’ll call them what they are: distractions. We become so good at hiding what we’re carrying that eventually nobody sees it—not even the people closest to us.

And while conversations around mental health have improved, many men still don’t know where to find help, and still feel ashamed to do so when things get dark. Because reaching out for help sounds simple…until you’re the one who has to make that call, send that text, or admit that you’re not okay. Society often tells men to speak up, but expects the exact opposite.

That’s the reality of men’s mental health. It’s not a niche issue. It is not rare. It is not something affecting only a few people. This is happening to men everywhere.

Sons, brothers, fathers, uncles, friends who are smiling in public while fighting battles alone behind closed doors.

The struggle is real.

Strength is important. Resilience is important. But these should not mean isolation.

Being a man shouldn’t require suffering alone.

This month, I’m thinking about the men I’ve lost, and the conversations we’ll never get to have. I’m thinking about the friends who are still here but hurting more than they let on. And I’m thinking about how many lives could be saved if we just opened a safe place for them to rest.

If you’re struggling, reach out. To a friend. To family. To a therapist. Reach out to me. Reach out to anyone you trust.

Father i’m afraid.

I’m scared of this world in many different ways,

i’m afraid for the hate, the conflict, the problems that arise, and the people always pick a side but it’s rarely aligned.

i’m scared for the sacrifices, and the pain, and the character you are on stage,

trying to find, and avoid all the right & wrong ways,

i’m scared of the day, i’ll stoop over my parents graves.

scared of loose ends, and scared of closure. i’m scared of being sheltered, but i’m scared of exposure.

everyone i pass

is carrying a life,

whole childhoods behind their eyes, people they miss, people who died, dreams they protect, moments alive, all just as meaningful as mine

entire worlds, i walk beside.

happy highs,

and silent wars that they hide

fighting battles they survive

all too deep to be seen from outside

so i’ll move with softer hearts and kinder eyes,

despite all the failure, heart break, and things endured,

my life has been beautiful, even if it seems buried deep in the dirt.

beauty doesn’t always appear for what it’s worth.

it can be bloody, clawing and crawling it’s way out the earth.

it can be getting back up when the pain hits first. carrying grief in silence but not letting that turn into a curse.

not even when you’re broken and burnt.

it can even be losing yourself, then returning rehearsed.

more honest, more hardened, more aware of the worst. some lessons aren’t learned, but they brutally hurt.

I’m in constant grief,

for the version of myself who did

or will die.

i think about how my loved ones would feel,

the grief that would shatter their lives

and stain them forever.

the memories in every room

that would haunt them.

the stillness in a world

that doesn’t stop turning.

the anger they’d have at me

for not trying harder.

the last words they’d say beside me,

as a kid

i measured love through things i could open.

the things i could hold.

wrapped boxes, new shoes, toys i begged for,

never noticing

the house itself was a gift.

because the real gifts were never wrapped.

like hearing my sister awake before me, the footsteps down the hall,

the lights on in the kitchen,

I still do not know why I’m here

Feelings of hope and love

And fear

1000 years here and 1000 years there

A grand design beyond repair,

Silence is a heavy prayer,

Vigilance in my glare,

I’m not here, nor am I there,

Counting hairs, grow a pair,

Walking down jagged stairs...

Watch me fall, through withdrawals,

All that time you never called.

Count the cracks upon the wall,

Hearing words that don’t belong to me at all,

An abandoned vault, in an iron stall,

do you think it’s ok to live the same day, over and over again the same way, from the sun rise to the sun shade, till the moonlight sneaks out and night stays. can never out run this pain , it don’t fade. a short message written on my grave—“he was here, he was brave, leave some flowers below the name“

Another day my life is grey, sitting here waiting to change, silently locked inside this cage.

And I think, is it really worth my best foot first, every step seems my life is worse, a lifetime curse, and I'm losing my will, where others find my worth.

To me my death would be relief, but to my loved ones it would shatter earth. Loved me since my birth. My family has no desire to see me in the dirt. My death wouldn't effect me, it's them it hurts.

1000 days served in this prison first. 1000 days can't stop crying I think my piping burst.

And every tear I drop, and all the stress on top, I'm submerged.

A flow you can not reverse. Like pages torn from a book, words that cannot disburse. Seems life is a movie set, and I'm a character unrehearsed.

Don't know my boundaries because every corner has been blurred, visions out of focus like messages I never heard. I try to form a future, but the result is mentally disturbed, every path I pick leaves my morality deffered.

Heavy will be the silence as my room is left preserved, unturned, the way once preferred, no footsteps coming down the hall, no echos to be heard, just dust off all the memories and everything, just proof I once kept my word,

I am much like an anchor holding to the shore,

a safe stop in harbor, but we know that’s not what ships are made for,

holding now, but you’ll have to cut me free for those sails to soar.

You’ll trade my solid ground for distant doors,

for winds that whisper louder than I ever could before,

and I’ll stay buried where I was cast and stored,

forever waiting to be needed once more.

I was never meant to follow where they explore,

just the weight that kept you still when the waves would roar,

but when the chain slacks,

you won’t feel me no more.

a burden you carried,

a debt you finally paid for.

and you all were meant for motion, for finding more,

but me, i’m different—

just made for letting go, and sinking to the ocean floor.

still I remain in the depths people ignore,

every sound and echo settles from life I once bore,

no light, no love, no life-saving cord,

just the ghost of a weight you felt before.

and like all debts—once settled,

I’m nothing worth holding onto anymore.

in my dreams i’m successful,

i’ve got the job, the wife, and the kids, happily in a house i own around a table we sit.

not overly wealthy but boy are we rich,

with love, and hope, and some of that, and some of this,

really what a wish.

never hungry but no gourmet dish.

mom and dad are over, so are my niece and sis,

and it won’t be forever so i memorize it.

i study the laughs, the wrinkles, the way the words move the lips.

the stories we trade like inherited gifts.

and the way time moves slower in moments like this.

there’s wear on the floor, chips in the plates,

but nothing feels broken, not a thing out of place.

every joke, every look, every shift in space,

the walls they hold the echos that time can’t erase,

a life full of memories you can not replicate,

every second is full, never empty or a waste,

the kind of life you hit pause just to press replay.

hold on to now, every second i take,

burn in every detail so the memory never decays,

these moments you can never recreate,

so you live in the present, and you give it all that it takes,

because this is the dream you don’t wanna rush

but you don’t want to wait,

every minute gone is a memory that fades,

and when i wake up and it’s gone,

born in the wrong generation.

i think this century has me complacent.

should have been a knight, or a sailor, somewhere in the middle ages.

hell i’d even be happy being a scribe scripting pages.

my soul aches for swords, for battle and storms, not emails and files stacked from ceiling to floor, from back to the door.

i wasn’t supposed to be here, i feel it in my core,

i long for battle in lost forms, for alliance that’s been sworn.

trapped in a time that feels false and forlorn, my heart still lives battle-born.

i hear the clash of the shield and the lion’s roar,

through forests where shadows explore, oaths never broken, legends and lore.

my spirit still rides where the brave came before.

my mind sails the seas, my soul seeks the war, i’ll carve out my fate, write my story in gore.

i dream of the fields, the castles, the honor they stored.

born in the wrong generation, but attached to then by a cord, ready to die for what these men die for.

has the world forgotten me yet?

it’s been forever

since i got lost somewhere in my head.

and everyone i know

are changing the world in their own way,

though i’ve just been lingering

in this bed all day—

waiting for my moment

but nothing seems to change.

and who can i blame?

only myself.

enemies with my own self doubt.

i keep fighting battles

unplanned out,

because every plan i make

keeps coming back around.

i could build a castle,

just to burn it down.

the invitations stopped coming,

ive disappeared from town,

and this long silence

has been drowning out the sound,

of the walls closing in.

before the weight of every thought

settled and scorched my skin,

like every sin

cooked me from within.

now i see ghosts

of people i used to know

as familiar friends,

and every lonely night

i see them again.

nothing more than scars

that remind me

of the wreckage

where i’ve been.

has the world noticed

my absence then?

did my name disappear

in the wind?

nothing more than footprints

that disappeared

as the tide rolled in.

another face

that time erased

How foolish was I to think I was the only one battling foolish goals and grief

Buried in struggle neck deep

How silly I was to think

That I was the only one that misfortune reaped

And like a child I protested it was only me

So I cried, screamed and kicked my feet

Surely this is unfair you see

The world is less harsh to them it seems

Little do I know their losses are underneath

Happiness is just a persona that speaks.

But beneath its only tired eyes I pass on the street

And only little glimpses of this realization do I peek

Learn to recognize disguises strangers wear to mask defeat

Disguises that look like me

My own reflections do I see

Different names, same aches we breathe

Different storms, same drowning seas

Different prayers whisper in whimpering pleas

But nobody escapes gravity

No extra mercy is received

We're all beaten down to our knees

And every smile i chance to meet

Hides a war we're all too blind to see

Weights I thought unique to me

Oh so foolish I was to believe

The pain was mine exclusively

We're all holding what we can not release

the addictions hurts worse for the rest of the village

warped lives of blameless children

drugs dealers pass pain,

and then they pass that to their kids and again into their children

now one guy in one life cursed the next billion, and it’s his debt we’ve been feelin

and in this house

we smoke dope

there’s no healin.

only cold ceilings

deep down, down bad soul stealin, trauma shape shifted you into the evil villain

so he grew up so fast, same street, same sad, same script —in his hand , another addict- we wear the same mask, must be the same cycle same shit molded from the same cast. mama cry, she longs for days past, when we hoped for greener grass.

and all it takes is one soul to decide they’re done with this prison just one soul to rewrite the curse that’s been passed

get rid of that old tale of loves myth , full pipes half smoked,

half lapsed, same twitch

don’t move —stay sat ,

say we done every night, but every morn we forget that

pick the poison you pack

sat back couch cushions collapsed

more ash in the cracks

same hunger come back

future fades black hands shake, then heart goes flat

addiction don’t ask, it just sits where we’re at

in this house, we smoke dope

I try to keep my pain folded, like letters i never ment to send. Full of words i keep rewriting over and over again in my head. After all, silence is a language safer than the things i’ve never said—

So i try hard to convince myself that the dark is just a shadow, and not a friend. But all the mirrors in this house already know how this story ends.

The laughter from my lungs, but we know it’s just pretend. Fighting myself as if these emotions are something i can bend. A swift kick to the face so the truth is almost bled. Unfortunately, i’ve felt this depressed since i was barely even ten.

So many versions of myself never made it— they are already dead, and some days i feel like this version will also never make it out of this bed. Another version of me dying so a stranger can begin. I guess grief is the price we pay to live within our own skin.