Author’s Note:
Seven years ago (2019-ish), I wrote this poem during a time when I was writing constantly as a form of processing decades of repressed emotions. Many of those poems were very dark—too dark, perhaps, for my current online life.
This piece, however, still feels relevant. It reminds me of so many posts I see today from people—men and women—questioning the purpose of entering yet another relationship. While this writing is darker about men than I typically share, I ask that you look beyond the over-normalized judgment and simply toward the life long mistreatment I had normalized. Feel into the massive amount disappointment I was trying to alchemize.
I believe much of the negativity we see online toward men may be less about blaming any one person and more about the collective grief we all share around seemingly just missing each other. At least, that is my truth in anything I share.
Do I want a new man?
Sometimes.
The feeling comes and goes.
What do I want from a man?
I don’t really know what they offer.
Do I want him to plan dates?
That skill seems fleeting.
Do I want free vacations?
Trips to places I can’t afford?
Maybe. But they get so grumpy,
Overeat, need so many naps.
Will every experience
Be compared to his college days,
Or trips with his ex-wife?
Will I be bored, annoyed?
What if a man could take me on masculine adventures?
But will his back hurt on the hike?
Will I pack the snacks,
Kill the spiders,
Set up the tent?
Do I want grilled meats and full tires again?
I guess I could return those tasks to their gender.
Perhaps a long-term lover?
How quickly will three hours
Turn to an awkward thirty minutes,
And a small, chalky pill?
Someone to grow old with?
What if he only moves to get the remote,
Snoring like an old dog in his chair?
Steady male attention might be nice —
But will I share it
With his co-worker,
The woman with the low top at the grocery store,
Or my kid’s teacher?
More money could help.
But there’s always fine print
In the contract of earning less.
Maybe he could fix things.
But how many reminders will he need?
Who will clean up the mess it makes?
The handyman only needs one text,
One day.
Sharing a bed is lovely.
But can I share a whole house?
What mood will he bring to Sundays?
Modern men can help with chores,
So they say.
But will he wipe the counters
After his sandwich?
Add mayonnaise to the grocery list
When he uses it up?
Maybe just a live-in best friend?
But does he know how to be a friend?
Real friends listen when you talk.
Real friends give as much as they take.
What if these first few months
Are just a mask of new-love drugs?
What if he stops being interesting?
Falls into a depression?
Turns unkind?
What if he has road rage? (I hate car anger.)
Flirts with the neighbor’s wife? (She hates that too.)
Moans when I ask for help
With the dishes? (But why would I be doing his dishes?)
What if he won’t stop
Bringing up his exes —
Endless streams of “we” and “she”?
What if he’s late —
Smoking pot (Plant Medicine)
Or playing video games all night?
What if his dick stops working?
What if I wish it would?
What if he makes me his mother,
Dragging his feet through adult life
Like a spoiled child?
What if he plays the victim,
Hides instead of cleaning his messes?
What if he’s a public hero
But a broken boy at home?
What if he silently quits
Only to bed a woman
Who’s less real?
What if he spoils
The ending of my story?
What if work, his past,
And a fat mortgage
Have already stomped him dead?
Can I see the full list
Of his addictions
Before I sign the papers
To adopt?
What can I ask for?
What can I expect?
Do I want a new man?
I write primarily to support my small business, christinaelaine.com
I am a somatic coach, writer, and curriculum creator writing about the interior life of modern relating, weekly on Medium & Substack. I also host interviews on YouTube.