By Tembo Nani

They can’t understand how it feelsBeing the man saps strength on the wheelsIn a man who’s full of testosteroneBurning through his innards to the boneMaking him high on aggressionLike a smoking weed on a burst lesionShe thinks it’s animalistic ventingBut doesn’t know it’s real LentenHe wants to controlIt’s rooted in his marrowHe snaps out of controlIt’s difficult to tame body and soulHe charges for the pecking orderEvery inch a growing borderTo take his territory furtherCrooked means rating sunderHe rationalizes thinkingLooking for way out of the thingIt’s not easy being looked up toNo letting down even if he wants to.He burns flesh convoluted bulbEncased in thick garrisonMaking decisions be it turned on or offIt’s a hard game he can’t get a day offIt’s not a mean glance in vagueIt’s the coded blizzard in the sugar baseThat’s marked his lean stance in waysBeing the male of the other sex.The other sex doesn’t know the feelStriving to be the man indeedBut trotting behind the back wheelHe just must do somethingBut feels insane having nothingIt’s like cold water on a hot spiceOnly men can understand on this wise.