top of page


A poem for the man 

who cannot admit that he loves.

He cannot love, he cannot feel

He cannot be human.

For the man who laughs 

to hide his fear and pain,

Who buries himself in work 

convinced that money brings happiness,

because money is stable.

Money doesn’t speak.

Money doesn’t demand.

Money doesn’t leave.

For the man who has learned to lie so well 

that he convinced even himself

that he doesn’t care.

But it’s easy to see through the façade

when he’s lost for words…

The inconsistencies…

A poem for the man 

who doesn’t have the vocabulary

to talk about emotions.

He thinks pretending they don’t exist makes him mature

Crying is weakness.

Feeling is weakness.

Loving is weakness.

People are distractions…

His love shines through


when he remembers all the tiny details 

that everyone else has forgotten about.

Yet he pretends he’d forgotten 

how he felt about love and pain,

changing his story every day.

I wonder what the meaning of life is

for a man like that?

© 2023 Marieke de Koker

1 view0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page