Men Don’t Cry in the Street

Men don’t cry in the street, We learn early where not to bleed, Tears stay buried under the skin, Like debts you never let begin. Mama said, “Be strong, don’t shake,” Daddy just watched me learn to break, Every lesson carved in bone, Every hurt handled alone.

You swallow it down. You square your jaw. You keep walking.

Men don’t cry in the street, We bleed behind closed doors, We drink our grief, we grind our teeth, And ask for nothing more. If I ever fall to pieces, It won’t be where the world can see — Men don’t cry in the street, But God knows they bleed.

I’ve stood straight with a storm inside, Shook hands while my hope just died, Smiled through weight I couldn’t lift, Paid in years for a moment’s slip. Friends don’t ask, they just nod once, They know that look, they’ve worn it months, No confession, no relief — Just another night of teeth and grief.

You don’t explain. You don’t ask. You endure.

Men don’t cry in the street, We bleed behind closed doors, We bury love, we carry blame, Like boots across hard floors. If I ever lose my footing, It won’t be where the weak run free — Men don’t cry in the street, But God knows they bleed.

I’ve cried alone with the engine running, Head on the wheel, dawn still coming, Prayed to nothing, prayed to God, Didn’t ask for mercy — just enough to nod. I didn’t need to be forgiven, Just needed one more day of living.

Men don’t cry in the street, We bleed where shadows meet, We hold the line, we pay the price, We never make it sweet. If I die with something broken, Let it not be dignity — Men don’t cry in the street… But we bleed so the world stays clean.

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