It has always been there
Source of curiosity
Source of pleasure.
Both convenience
And inconvenience.
My father taught me
How to wash it
Keep it clean and healthy.
I shouted with joy
To discover hair growing
All around it.
I raced home
In an effort
To have it not betray me.
With golden liquid streaming forth
I stood before my Grade 5 class
Face flushed with shame
As a pool of wetness
Triggered by nervousness
Covered my pants
And the floor beneath me.
I was shocked and awed
When it stiffened
Lengthened and pulsed
With blood and desire.
I felt betrayed
When it was touched and caressed
By a girl I did not like
Did not trust
Without my consent.
When I went to the teacher
Told her my tale of woe
She was more angry at me
Than at the one who had crossed the line.
I sat in classes untold
Filled with fellow adolescents
Trying to hide
Its stiffness and bulge
As a stray breeze
A single thought
A surge of hormones
Could set it off.
I hated it
Considered it alien
And weird
Did not see
How any could love such a thing.
Then
After years of resistance
Of refusing to consider it
I began to touch it.
Explore and learn it.
To take it in my hand and love it.
I felt the joy of ecstasy
The power of climax
The rush of hormones
The feeling of profound relief.
So I finally learned
To love my penis.
To celebrate my manhood.
To grow comfortable in my masculinity.
I learned to love my body.
I made my body
My identity as man
My own.
And that has been
A source of great confidence.
And a blessing to myself
And many others.
Author’s Note: This poem was inspired by a concept I found another creator had done in adapting the premise of the Vagina Monologues to the male anatomy. The intention of this poem is thus to capture the whole of the relationship I’ve had with this most intimate aspect of my body, and my wrestlings with masculinity and embodiement.
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