rising majestically from the ashes
is only useful if you have been
unwittingly destroyed
by circumstances
beyond your control
if you willingly walk into the fire,
time and time again,
because you crave
the feeling of being reborn,
then it makes it impossible
for anyone in your life
to know who they’re dealing with
harness the power of the phoenix
without becoming a full-time martyr
to constant change
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
Eighty percent of all suicides
Are committed by men
In case you weren’t listening,
I’ll say it again
Eighty percent of those who opted
Out of the plan of painful static
Were men, and I seriously doubt
That each one was a drunk or an addict
Labels help us dismiss the men
Who consciously choose not to live;
Toxic Masculinity, effeminate, weak;
Waved off as Liberal or Conservative
We’re expected to behave
As if we’re made of steel
But that’s fairy tale bullshit,
And it’s so far from real
Real men lose hope,
And they check out every day
They’re White, and they’re Black,
They’re straight, and they’re gay
They’re Latinos and Asians,
They’re Christians and Jews
College boys and farmers,
Overcome by the blues
And there was nobody there
Who knew what to say,
Who could (or would) help them
Make the pain go away
We choke on barrels or ropes,
Or we slit our wrists,
You call us narcissists, deadbeats,
And misogynists
If you say “All these men needed
“Was to have faith in God,”
Then your thinking is ignorant,
And dangerously flawed
Our bodies, ruined by painful,
Dangerous hard work,
But a broke or broken man
Is treated like a jerk
Women say, “Open up to me,
“Because I can help you grieve”
But when men share, women scare;
They get turned off and leave
A man carries on in silence for years,
Pain hidden by a noble stealth
But it rarely looks like the typical case
Of depression or poor mental health
More often than not, it’s a mystery
People scratch their heads and wonder,
“But he was so strong, I never knew.
I can’t believe he went under”
When a man can’t provide for his own,
No matter how he labors or tries,
Stumbling beneath an impossible weight,
He collapses from guilt, and he dies
The system dooms most men at birth,
Before we even get a chance to start
It favors the women who hurt us, and lie,
And rip our families apart
But the system wasn’t entirely built
By rich men, on the backs of the poor
There were also many greedy wives
Who yearned for more and more
Anyone who says women don’t lie
Or make up false allegations
Must have been hiding under a rock,
Not living in real situations
Of child support paternity tests,
30% are not the child’s real father
70% of divorces are initiated by women
So, why should a man even bother?
Many modern women think it’s cute,
Clever, and somehow funny,
To tear a man down by cheating on him,
Or using him for money
They say, “Men do it all the time!
“So, turnabout is fair play!”
But it’s not even close to being true
To say most men act that way
The word patriarchy is dropped
About a thousand times an hour
But most males have never known
Real money or true power
We’re told that “all men,” are abusers,
And how a bear could be escaped
But most men have never killed anyone,
Nor beaten a woman, or raped
Eighty percent of the suicide stats,
Men, in pain, and masking
But hey, everybody, we’re all fine,
So, thanks for never asking
Lean on me, brother, if you need to
You’re allowed to hurt and to cry
Soldiers should get furlough and rest,
But you don’t have permission to die
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
Sweat fire
Thermometer glowing
Like an arc welder’s bead
Rack ‘em up, and
Break one hundred
Fifteen 8 balls on the table
Ninety-nine bottles of
Fahrenheit on the wall,
Thirty-seven bottles of Celsius
If none of that mercury
Should happen to fall,
Doom and extinction,
Us, will befall
Nuclear fusion in the skull
[Crawls into a cave and collapses.]
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
being a poet and a songwriter
everyone assumes the things you write
are about them
a symptom of narcissistic culture,
exacerbated by social media
people love to be talked about
(favorably, anyway)
some people don’t even care if it’s favorable,
as long as someone is talking about them
write an angry piece about anyone,
and suddenly, ten friends are worried
it’s about them
twenty acquaintances
are boiling in their juices
say something vague about someone
who did you a favor and meant a lot to you,
people line up to take credit
write about a bad breakup,
half a dozen old girlfriends
are seeing red, blowing fuses,
about things that happened
five, ten, fifteen, twenty years ago
even though, in reality,
it’s not about them at all
write anything romantic,
and a dozen girls are swooning,
each one quite positive
it’s about them
or they’re enraged because
they believe it’s about someone else
but that one piece,
the really sexy, romantic one,
the one that made you flustered,
flush, lightheaded with excitement
that one was
definitely
about you,
yes, you,
the one
reading this
right now
I swear
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
reinvent the round, roly-thing
obfuscate, make useful stuff obsolete
situations we’d sorted out,
happily, a long time ago
some growing pains, yes, a sting
lots of sunk-cost fallacies to eat
and tales of yesterday to talk about
but no real satisfaction to show
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
I may need someone to
bail me out of jail one day
a few rude words?
I ignore that nonsense
rise above that garbage
pseudo-alpha peacocking
I’ll laugh it off, or stare at you, blankly
but don’t put your hands on me or mine
I don’t know you, so I’ll assume
that you intend serious harm,
and that you’re capable of it
which means I won’t “phone it in”
or give unnecessary warnings
I’ll just break you, snap you in half
like a fresh string bean
I’m capable of far worse things than you,
on your best day, and my worst
I didn’t choose golf or video games
I chose martial arts, guns, and black magic
you are merely uncouth, and ill-tempered
I am polite, well-mannered, patient,
observant, and unapologetically evil
evil to the core
©2025 Kevin Trent Boswell
Kevin Trent Boswell 