You weren't there—
when the world cracked open
and I fell through the floor.
You weren’t there—
when my fists hit concrete
just to feel something real.
But he was.
And him.
And the one they called lost.
We were broken pieces—
but we fit.
Not pretty. Not perfect.
But real.
They told us men don’t cry.
So we roared.
Told us to calm down.
So we rose up.
Told us to stand in line.
We formed a circle.
This is not soft.
This is steel sharpened by pain.
This is rage repurposed.
This is brotherhood—
not born in comfort,
but forged in fire.
So if you're angry—good.
If you're tired—better.
Stand up.
Shoulder to shoulder.
Voice to voice.
Let them know: