The Manly Man and the Womanly Woman

Bradley Hathaway is the author of this poem:

The Manly Man

I don’t want my long hair, pretty green eyes, with—(no, I do not have on mascara)—eyelashes; skinny figure, undersized T-shirt, hips shake too much when I walk–to confuse anybody… I am a Manly Man!

Within this sissy frame, obviously rib-laden chest

Lies a heart that drives to the beat of a native American ritual dancing wildness,

It pumps an ever-cascading supply of untamedness

That a heard of wild mustangs still have yet to grasp.

If danger lurks about, I will seek it out.

If adventure abounds, I will be found there.

If a damsel be in distress, I will show her who is best.

I am a manly man… because I don’t flush,

and I leave the lid up.

I drive a 1988 Ford pick-up truck;

Girls don’t break up with me…

I break up with them first(except the last time didn’t really work out like that)

I don’t shave the hair on my face

(because I still can’t grow facial hair yet, but when I can I won’t)

Because beards are tough!

I fart, burp and spit when I want, not caring who’s nearby.

Disrespect my momma, and I will punch you in the eye.

I am a Manly Man… or am I?

I tell my guy friends I love ‘em, and sometimes,

sometimes I even hug ‘em,

Not because I’m gay, but because I love em.

And when I watch Bambi, I cry.

And when my mema gets mad, I still run and hide.

Like David I want to be a man after God’s own heart;

I’m not there yet, but past the start.

And when people talk, I try to listen;

and a spirit of compassion—that’s my vision.

Surely I am a Manly Man.

I want to be loved, and have love, and give love.

And not just that romantic kind either,

(although I am looking for that beauty).

Not helpless, but one who wants to be rescued—

the damsel in distress,

Man, woman, myth, true.

I will fight for her,

climb the highest mountain for her,

love her, share with her,

Delight in her, be her warrior, her protector.

She will be my crown, and I will be hers.

My masculinity will be passed down and affirmed to my sons,

And each of my daughters will know they are lovely,

And deserving of authentic romance…

Society tells me all day long that I define manhood completely wrong,

But you ask any honest man and he will agree;

you ask any honest woman

And she too will see that

I am a manly man!

...and I responded with this:

The Womanly Woman

I don’t want my tough, “I can handle it”—(no, I’m not a feminist)—“I can do anything a man can” attitude, with my super-fit body, can do 100 man-style push-ups in 30 seconds—to confuse anybody . . .

I am a womanly woman!
I am always dressed to kill
While out shopping, at work, or preparing a meal.
I must have at least two pairs of shoes for each outfit,
Hair is done, makeup on, and my nails, a hit.
I am a womanly woman.

I am modest, but fashionable,
Respected by the young girls, so impressionable.
There is grace in each and every step,
More than just surface, I am a person of depth.
I am a womanly woman.

I am always courteous in public,
I smile and greet; confidence is my trick.
Never would you see me fart, burp, or spit,
Those words won’t even form on my lips.
I am a womanly woman.

My home is perfectly kept.
I’m on top of the chores, have never overslept.
I look good, smell good, taste good for my man
He comes home each day to his biggest fan.
I am a womanly woman.

My heart is touched by any love story
When my man neglects me, I start to worry.
I try hard to control my monthly emotions,
But if you mess with my man, I’ll start a commotion.
I am a womanly woman.

I don’t fight or fuss when I don’t get my way.
My word’s enough, it holds much sway.
I live out the qualities of Proverbs thirty-one
To make my mark for when my life here is done.
I am a womanly woman. . . Or am I?

Does this mean I never have a bad day?
Or I don’t slip up and not mean what I say?
I’ve been outside and worked up a sweat,
I’ve thrown the football and beat any record set.
I’ve mowed the lawn, changed the oil
Lost my cool, and acted spoiled.
Had a fight with my man, and went away crying,
But he brought me flowers; I knew he was trying.
I go to church and God touches my heart,
I leave determined to make a fresh start.
In all these things, you see, yes, I am human,
Yet I remain, a womanly woman.