When I open the doors of the shower, after brewing my body in steaming hot water
the scheme of me slowly clearing up to a pure reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room. Red skin, steam rising from my shoulders, my curly hair dark. dripping.
Heat and water made my skin go tense, edges, bones and muscles appear, when I breath in my chest widens. My shoulders broaden. My statue rises. I feel so strong, so powerful. So beautiful and desirable. I look at my face thinking of a lion, my red beard and brown hair, my mane, my blue-green eyes in between. The hair on my chest resembles a butterfly, my nipples as decorative circles in the lower part. Wings wide spread. Up in the sky. Gliding through the universe.
I imagine myself walking out in a fantasy land, naked as I am, through the fields. Everybody turns around, head and eyes fixed on my legs, my hips and my back. The body moves, soft wind blowing over my skin. I radiate power.
It is a very intimate moment. It is a hidden moment. Because I am afraid to show myself that way on the outside. So much dirt, so much poison and disease is sticking on the outside of masculinity. All the reading that I have done, the conferences, the lectures, the discussions. The masculinity is subject to so much denial, hate, anger, frustration. And inside me I have it. I am carrying it. The virus.
My urge to be admired. The longing for recognition. A terrible subconscious fear to lose control. Not being told how to cope with that I walk through life, hiding. I stumble through my days putting huge amounts of emotional work into not being what I am, into not allowing my gut to push out what I swallowed. I can not. Too much has been done wrong with these energies. There is a tabu in my world, no room for my male ego. To many spaces are dominated by male egoism and I can not be part of that.
I am too afraid to be dropped by the ones I love.
I am to afraid I could be considered unworthy of my friends closeness.
I am too afraid to be considered disgusting by my fellow females.
So much is bound to those other humans. What irony.
How could I ever feel strong and sovereign if I can not even handle my emotions on my own?
How could I be that admired lion if I can not even stop to think of the implications of my actions to my surroundings out of fear to be left alone?
Searching for my inner self I draw to my mother in reflection. Her deep understanding of me, her sympathy for my suffering makes me cry. Her strength, the power that she embodies. It is nothing I can ever reach. I feel so weak.
I am so f*cking male.
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