I wouldn’t argue that these ‘madnesses’ manifest strictly along gendered lines, in fact I would argue they show in both, though maybe seen unequally. But given the womanisation of madness in the form of hysteria, poetic license to speak to them as though they do seems fitting.

Women are shamed for their madness
The madness of women
The uncontrolled emotion the hysteria
The lying in bed unable to rise weeping into pillows
The guttural scream of despair to the sky
The gnashing of teeth, the pulling of hair
The rending of clothes, of flesh
The primal rage
Of being misunderstood unseen unmet
And the crushing pressure of an expectant world becomes too much
For the mind and heart to bear in silence
A madness of feeling
Writ in expression
The soul trying to break free

But what of the madness of men?
Where is that spoken?

The madness that severs men from their own heart
To dance instead to the beat of a mechanical clock
Calling their life’s end nigh from the moment of their birth
Reminding him that time can run out in a moment
And before then he must make is presence felt
He must matter and all must know it
Stamp his print deep into the earth
And that mark be marvelled and adored
Without that, the thudding grind ever grating
A tick tock telling he is not yet enough
As though that has more gravity than the pulse of life
More pull than a warm embrace
More significance than love

The madness that urges a man to forsake all feeling
In favour of empty glasses and emptier words
And fear
The fear of being seen in any way as weak or unknowing
When no man taught them how to be anything other
When no man showed them anything other could exist
To act certain while mired in uncertainty
To act confident while seething with worthlessness
To imagine strength as dominance over
Rather than support and holding of
To display this weak strength as a badge of honour
While the child inside weeps and wails
Dismissed abandoned unloved

The madness that leads a man to beat his own child
Whether with words or fists so long as they are down and cowering
A testament to his great weak strength
That leads a man to beat his wife a woman he may claim to love
But how can one know love when their heart is a husk
So deprived of sustenance
So beaten first within himself
The constant vehement defense of a shell so brittle
That the smallest slight can crack it all to pieces
And he dissolves in his madness and his fury
Destroying any who stand close enough to touch

The madness that leads a man to commit atrocities
Of rape or murder or war or genocide
Repression and destruction
Of that which threatens this weak strong man’s
Illusion of control
Cruelties unimaginable against the innocent
Against the very planet we depend on
And her pure creatures
Factory farms and factory foods
All reduced to consumable things
No longer bearers of sacred energy
Nourishment from the Great Mother
Yet how often do we hear and see and live this
How often repeated day by day, year by year, decade by decade
Again and yet again
Does making these things common
Render them sane?

Men are lauded for their madness
Made leaders and made rich
Set on thrones of cold hard stone
Atop mighty towers of cold hard steel
Hating anyone who may rest in softness
Or offer it to others
Or be other in any way
A prime minister, a president
A priest, a king, a CEO
A boss, a father, a man on the street
A tyrant, any one
A madness of belief
Writ in oppression
The ego desperate to survive

What of the madness of men
The insanity of not knowing how to feel
The insanity of believing that being unfeeling uncaring disconnected
Inhumane
Is a superior form of humanity

Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash

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