Boys will be boys

You know the old saying... Boys will be boys...

It exists for men too. Men will always be men, with their eyes cast sideways, never quite meeting yours, not when it matters. They’ll sit there, won’t they? Watching as other men diminish you, their eyes half-lidded in apathy. They’ll stand by while hands that aren’t yours claim your skin, while lips that have no right press against your space, invading you without so much as a second thought. They’ll turn their heads, men always do. They’ll shrug it off, say it’s not their fight, not their mess to clean.

Men always choose men.

It’s primal, a pact as old as dirt, as old as the earth they bury women in, silently, subtly, with every time they refuse to speak.

But boys... boys we forgive, don’t we? It’s endearing when it’s boys, isn’t it? The mess is smaller, the sins easier to sweep under the rug because we tell ourselves it’s part of growing up. A mistake, not a pattern. When boys will be boys, it’s forgivable, almost cute. But when men choose to stay boys? That’s when you learn... Boys never really grow up. They just learn how to be men, and nothing ever changes.