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Other books by

Pierre Alex Jeanty

Best-Sellers

HER.

HER Vol. 2

Unspoken Feelings of a Gentleman

To the Women I Once Loved

Other Books

Unspoken Feelings of a Gentleman II

In Love with You

Apologies That Never Came

Coming soon

HEart

Copyright © 2018 by Pierre Alex Jeanty

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ISBN-13: 978-1949191004

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When I wrote HER, I wanted to empower women, wanted them to know that there are men out there who recognize, appreciate, and celebrate their strength. There are men who want to understand them.

After the book became a success and I published the second version,

I felt like a little bit of my voice was drifting away from my original focus. I felt myself being put into the box that reads, “Modern poets who only know how to glorify women.”

In the beginning, I started writing to be a voice that spoke for the broken men, the loving men, the growing men, and the good men. I wanted to speak for the men who are classified under ‘all men are dogs,’ when they themselves never or no longer believe in promiscuity and self-destructive lifestyles.

I started out writing to express my mistakes, my regrets, where I fell short with love and women, and how I grew from those things.

I am passionate about that; I am passionate about helping men who see themselves in my story to grow. Along the journey, I decided I wanted to reach women as well. Loving my wife pulled that out of me.

Don’t get me wrong, I love uplifting women, and to know so many women HER has touched is beautiful.

Women ought to know that they are worthy of love, consistency, loyalty, respect, and so forth. They must also know that we aren’t all bad, they aren’t all good, always right, or always the victim.

I want men to get some glory and be understood as well.

I am a balanced human being who tries to do everything with balance.

HIM is not as far different from

HER as the mirror of society

paints it for their eyes to see...

I do not claim to know

the hearts of all men,

I only vow to express my inner
thoughts.

I will never

fight for the men

who can’t be men

to women.

He feels,

He cares,

He breaks,

He knows pain,

He makes mistakes,

He grows,

He learns,

He heals,

He loves.

Maybe there is not a lack of
good men for women or good
women for men, but a lack of
people falling for those who are
meant to catch their hearts.

Somewhat like the good in this
world, the lack of it is easily
discovered by the eye; yet,
where it lies in abundance isn’t
given enough credit.

Do you care about what’s on his
mind, or are you digging out of him
reasons you should be on it?

Do you care about his happiness, or
do you only care to search for your
happiness inside of him?

Do you even care about his life, or
are you making sure that you
become his world and begging him
to live as if you’re the only thing in
his universe?

How can you want to always be on
his mind, want him to make you
happy and only care for a life with
you, when you barely care enough
about his existence without you?

He was not made to become the living
definition of a ‘real man’ that you’ve
extracted from memes, tasted from
bitter tongues, and plastered on the
walls of your mind

because it fits into everything your ex
never was.

He is not trying to become ‘real’ in the
eyes of a generation who cannot
separate truth from emotions,
and experience from reality.

He was created to be authentic to
genuine hearts, caring to loving souls,
and bear greatness into this world.

His being was knitted with integrity
and confidence, grown of good
character and valor.

His idea of ‘a real man’ is to fulfill the
image of what a good man ought to be
modeled after.

“A real man”

If his kisses taste everything like
honesty,
it does no good to speak
dishonestly of him simply because
all you’ve known of men is the
dishonesty they’ve poured into
your ears.

A man cannot be unworthy of trust
simply because men who looked like
him walked into your life and
slowly devoured yours.

He is weak for you,
but that does not mean he is weak.

He is strong for himself
but that does not mean it is his burden
to forever be the strength for both of
you.

Love isn’t always the easiest thing
to harvest.

If this truth has settled in your
veins already, you must not act
blind to the contradictions that are
swirling in your breath

when you’ve grown angry at him
for not falling in love with you on
your timing.

You can’t just shake a growing
tree saying, “I am a good woman so
love me,”

and expect fruits of love to just
fall.

How many seasons did your love
have to endure before it bore a
harvest?

I am always able to love,

I am simply unable to

always be loving.

There is a silent war in his mirror,

one with a history

that is out to conquer his mind.

There is a loud battle in his mind,

An, “Am I enough?” fight over his
manhood.

Am I tall enough?

Am I good-looking enough?

Am I successful enough?

Am I man enough?

Countless allies of his insecurities
bomb his happiness, attempting to
overpower everything good in him.

He is fighting an invisible crusade
that only the soul knows,

the spirit recognizes,

and the naked eye will easily miss.

“War Zone”

I am slowly merging into the lane
that was created for me,

slowly detaching myself from my
past

and peeling off these callouses

over my heart.

Men, too, are caterpillars

becoming butterflies.

They grow wings

and later become lions

who refuse to be misled by pride
and hunted by their ego.

If I cannot be cherished by you,

I will not become a burden,

I will become a lost treasure.

If I cannot be a blessing to you,

I will not become a curse.

I will become absent.

Many men who seem to have it
together are slowly breaking down,
constantly adjusting their grip as
they try to hold on.

They live clueless of how to
undress their ego

and be welcoming to helping hands
that are dying to grab them and
help them pull themselves up.

These men have learned to walk
this earth alone,

a beautiful thing that carries ugly
outcomes when a dead end is
reached.

“We all need bridges.”

I hope one day we mourn the
innocence stolen from the minds of
boys before they knew how to write
their name properly.

I do not say this to throw pity parties,
I say this to address the elephant in the
room that is slowly leaving no room for
men to breathe.

I am talking about the double
standards that treat my brothers as
nothing, while everything they do
becomes something that needs to be
talked about and protested.

I want to apologize to the men

who the boy in me once mocked for
being too loving,

for holding onto their virginity,

for having pure hearts,

for valuing commitment,

for befriending vulnerability,

for being loyal to one woman.

Only tongues of fools discover
reasons to mock the softness of
men and love in their voices.

Don’t mistake him for the boys
who try to find their way between
your legs; boys whose hearts only
see you as a piece of meat from
their menu of lust,

the perfect side piece.

He, however, is a man who is
hunting for something different,

a man searching for the love in
your soul,

the softness in your smile,

the courage in your voice,

the freedom in your laugh,

the calm of your touch.

There are men who know when to
take it slow,

and men who know how to fake
their fall while their ten toes are
planted enough for them

to run away at any given time.

There are also men who cannot
keep themselves from indulging
when they find something good,
and some who know how to be

first obsessed,

then consistent with their
obsession.

Pace doesn’t reveal the heart,

only character.

He is the type of man who does not
allow words of life to stall in the
back of his throat until they grow
dry of meaning.

Men like him can see the lack of
kind and loving words that travel in
and out of mouths daily.

Therefore,

he is overly expressive,

consistent at compliments,
overflowing with affection on
purpose.

He is only trying to create a little
balance in this world by being the
type of man many women don’t get
a taste of.

“Can’t you see that?”

Women who pick men by their
appearance always set themselves
up for failure.

It is an injustice to let a man’s
body keep you away from his gold
mind, and a heart where love is
buried.

Women who’ve decided whether or
not a man is worthy of their hearts
by how much room his pockets
have left,

digging with the hope that there’s
enough gold inside

to arouse their hearts

have only robbed themselves of a
better life,

not the other way around.

Let’s be honest.

You didn’t love him,

he was an escape out of your
loneliness,

your therapy for attention.

Yet here you are,

still trying to convince him that
your heart is shackled to his love,

that your love existed for his
existence.

And now he is running away,

you keep throwing more empty
words to keep him from being
willing to search for someone who
doesn’t have to pretend.

“Liar”

To the boys who’ve had their
hearts ripped out of them and their
pride stomped on,

you tell them,

“Hurry up and heal so when you
date, you don’t hurt our women.”

You make sure they know that men
carrying pain are storms,
tornadoes, tsunamis, and volcanoes.

Yet to the girls you say, “Queen, if
he can’t love you without flaw and
practice patience, let him go.”

“Villains”

There’s no fear in love,

they say.

I know it’s true, but I must take my
time to make this truth bone of my
bones.

How do I swallow this truth when
my ears are full of, ‘I love you’s’
from people who have given my
heart every reason to fear the next
lover?

There’s no fear in love, they say,

but the only love I’ve ever seen
gave me these fears.

So bear with me, I am learning to
live through these terrible
experiences, slowly digesting them,
making myself ready to flush them
out.

I am determined make room for my
stomach to take in more truth as my
truth.

A man having no guidance is never
an excuse as to why he continues to
live a misguided life,

misleading women along the way.

But if we are being honest,

don’t we live in a cause and effect
world?

Or do you only see a cause when
someone else is affecting you?

There is no sin in being logical and
no crime in not being an activist for
emotions.

There may be the lost opportunity
to be an empath when life summons
us for the job,

but we must never forget that
emotions,

more often than not,

are guilty of pushing us to the
wrong places which we never
should’ve ventured.

“Be their master.”

You silence his concerns by raising
your voice

to voice yours,

yet complain about how his silent
treatment is causing injury.

Can’t you see that it’s the remedy
to your neglect?

Two wrongs don’t make a right,
but a wrong cannot call another
wrong

right.

Brother,

the weight of your existence cannot
fit into your pocket.

Your wallet shouldn’t define your
life just because there are women
who do not mind living in it.

Empty

I do not know how to be in love with you.

I do not know how to be in love.

I’ve been told to hide my feelings in my bones,

so only when I become a skeleton will they be close
to being seen.

See, even death won’t be enough light to find them,
not until every part of me is broken and ground
down, until the marrow is exposed along with
everything I’ve ever felt, every part of my existence
crushed to nothing.

I am not dead inside, I am simply empty.

Those who visited my heart before you

told me that this was not normal.

They consistently reminded me that they could not
find reason to live in a home without colors,
without furniture,

doors that were never opened,

and a yard with dying grass that seemed to keep
snakes away and everyone else along with them.

This temple only knows me,

it only knows abandonment, a

nd it knows nothing special besides pain.

Words of love slip through my teeth,

yet you don’t hear it from my heart.

It is not pretense,

people with empty hearts speak wishes quite often.

I do not lie about love,

I am merely still practicing how to say it in a way
that helps my heart join the chant.

I am not happy with this temple.

I am still cutting down the trees planted by the
demons God drove out when I begged Him to park
Himself inside my heart,

making way for the sun to find me.

I am not a hypocrite,

I just don’t know how to love.

Never did I hurt her and not feel
twice the pain,

as if every low blow to her was an
uppercut to my rib.

Quite the contrary,

men who are truly on the road of
love cannot hit and run.

They either run,

then get hit,

or hit,

then walk

with heavy legs,

aching hearts,

and regret chasing after them.

“It’s never easy.”

When loving a man like him
becomes something you cannot
bring yourself to cherish,

you must let him go.

Let him go without tying an
invisible string of hope to his leg,
slowly reeling him back in

while you figure out if you are
ready to be loved by a man like him
or not.

Let his heart find freedom to learn
the name of a woman who will
cherish it without hesitation.

Unearth his roots before you pass
judgement on the fruits he bears.

Instead,

dig to find what kind of soil he was
planted in,

the way he was watered,

who became the sunlight to his eyes
etc.,

to learn what type of tree he is and
understand why he grows the
harvest you see.

You must care enough to reach
deep.

We don’t know anything about
anyone with whom we only walk on
shallow ground.

I am nothing like the pretentious
lovers who came before I found my
way to you.

Our voices do not sound the same,
our intentions don’t come from the
same place,

our burdens do not weigh the same.

I say this to remind you not to trap
this new love of ours in the box
that your old loves handcrafted.

I do not look like them,

so, don’t look for me in the mirror
of your pain.

He does not let water run freely
from his eyes

because he is afraid that they will
create rivers that will soon form
lakes,

then oceans of pity for him to
drown in.

That is why his cry for help is dry.

Do you know what it feels like not
to know how to do the only thing
you must know to do?

Have you tasted the frustration,
smelled the fear,

or felt the disappointment that cut
off your limbs while you tried to
make your way somewhere?

This is his battle with love;

to want to love,

yet know nothing about it; to be
thirsty for affection, yet not know
how to drink from the cup by whom
it’s served; to be hungry for
consistency, yet not know how to
enjoy the taste of it.

None of us are without a past.

It’s unfortunate that he had been a
dog during the days he was the pet
to his lust,

but that man has grown beyond his
foolishness.

To hunt down and kill the lion

that is climbing out of him

with reminders of what he once
was, is cruel.

As a man graduates from living like
a king to being a king,

please do not unbury his less
honorable days to gain ground on
him.

Are you kidding me?

There are guys out there who will
not find it childish to love another
man’s child.

As a matter of fact,

there are some looking to be more
of a father to the fatherless.

“Conversation with a single mom.”

Brothers,

we too are emotional creatures.

We let anger carry the tone of our
emotions.

We let silence take all of our words,
stealing our voices and desire to
ask for what our souls need.

We let rejection steal every bit of
adventure and risk in us.

Whether or not we admit it,

we are tortoises;

tough on the outside,

soft on the inside, and only move at
our pace.

There is no righteousness in rage;
it only creates fires to burn things
down.

Do not let that rage be your fuel,
it’ll only give you a drive for the
wrong things or help you spark
things the wrong way.

I am not a rebound,

I am the man who refuses to stay
on the sideline when the ball is in
my court.

I actually want to be a teammate
and win with her at this thing called
love.

“I am your last quarter.”

Good men have always existed and
will always occupy space on this
earth.

There will be those who will blind
themselves of reasons to give them
credit,

but the good they bring to this
world will always better the soil of
this planet;

they will always outweigh the bad.

When I limit a woman to ‘just friends,’

they call it being mean.

They call me a puppet of immaturity because
I am letting a good one walk.

They say I am guilty of misleading her,

and call it being afraid of commitment and
addicted to chasing less.

They crucify me for not being a fan of their
pick.

Yet,

when I am the prisoner of the friend-zone
and proclaim that I am being overlooked,

they tell me to grow up and accept the fact
that she doesn’t want me.

She says, “I don’t want a relationship,” yet
texts me the sweetest words,

luring me to invest quality time and

occasionally brush her lips against mine.

I am supposed to see those things as
nothing, recognize those actions filled with
interest and those misleading behavior as
friendship events.

How easy it is to believe that a man in the
friend-zone is on his way to becoming a
predator, while the man who guards the
friend-zone is meant to be her prey?

He does not see you as his
conquest.

To him,

you are not land to colonize and
leave in poor condition

to forever be a slave to his touch,
under the occupation of his lies.

There are no oppressive tactics
hidden in his words.

He is here to honor your roots,

find beauty in your culture and
become loyal to the queen in you.

“There are kings in the deck.”

“How did we fall out of love?”

she asked.

“The same way ashes are made,” I
replied.

“We never fed our flames.”

The beautiful words that swim out of his
crooked teeth are not the words of a
crook.

They do not come from a crooked heart;

they are perfect words floating their way
out of the mouth of the imperfect.

They are words of a sinner with a pure
heart and good intentions.

You are a woman’s prayer,

the miracle she patiently waits for,

the priceless reward that she will
never give away.

Your love for her will be cherished,

you cheering her on will be more
than proof to her eyes that you are
here to build.

She will not betray you,

she will honor every bit of you,

she will not condemn you for things
you aren’t blameworthy of.

To let the bad you’ve tasted take
this truth away from you,

is to be deceived.

Here you are, trying to convince me
that not trusting easily is the
devil’s hold on what we have, yet
your words slowly became the very
image of why I am slow to trust.

“Lucifer, the angel.”

Let me be the simp who commits,

the punk who is loyal,

the guy who is affectionate,

the softy who cries,

the stupid who is vulnerable,

the holier than thou who is
monogamous.

Let me be whatever your fear and
ignorance gives name to.

Call me whatever gives rest to your
misery,

It is not strong enough to stop me
from loving being in love and
becoming a loving man.

You are not any less special for
being a man.

Women are magical; but you too,
my friend, are a miracle this world
needs.

The existence of the moon is as
important as the existence of the
sun,

the soil has no more importance
than the flower,

your hand has no more importance
than your arm.

Men and women are blessings in
their own ways.

Light has always had the ability to drive
out darkness, I’ve been told.

It’s easy for me to believe this when my
chocolate skin was always preferred
second compared to the boys whose skin
was like the sun, shining upon the faces of
the girls my age.

To them, I was the darkness creeping its
way into their presence, while the light-
skinned boys were the gold they were
looking for, the sunshine they needed.

I had to live in the shadows and pray that
I would get my shot, only to watch the
trigger be pulled on my heart because I
was not quite the preferred shade.

It was then I started learning that despite
the heaven I can offer, some fallen angels
dressed in yellow flesh would always be
their favorite paradise.

“Dark Boy”

How can he know how to love you
when you are clueless about how to
love yourself?

Giving a man a job that you cannot
do shouldn’t make him
incompetent.

You’ve failed at it, why must you
toss away the credit he deserves for
trying?

Why don’t you help him study you,
open your soul for him to learn
from the pieces of you that you do
know how to treat well?

Perhaps that could be a start to
both of you learning to let love
have its way with the two of you.

They say,

“She is more than an eye candy,

she is soul food.”

I agree

And me...

“I am more than a snack,

I am a full course meal

made from a chivalrous recipe.”

There are men who will not forfeit
happiness for fleeting moments of
excitement.

Those are the men who have tasted the
type of love that satisfies them, yet
they could never become full on it.

Those are the men who find reasons to
call

their woman beautiful daily.

Those are men who prefer to be slaves
to love rather than live as masters of
lust.

Manhood was not stolen from you, only
parts of you have been explored and
exploited by enemies who have presented
themselves as friends.

Those parts of you are not meant to be
colonized by darkness, they are not meant to
remind you that you are weak and useless.

Dear boy,

you cannot walk on this earth with the
weight of such a past pinning you down.

Climb I tell you,

climb out of the cave of, “Why me?”

Crawl out of the jungle of, “Do I deserve to
live?”

Do not let their evil acts make you out to be
a lifeless soul.

There is strength on the other side; there are
rivers of joy, there is a field of smiles, there
are houses made out of love, and there is
freedom on the other side.

You must get to the other side.

You must not grow cold and numb, it will
only keep your legs from ever truly growing
forward.

And yes, they may consider you less of a
victim than the girls who’ve been chewed
apart by this sin, and that will always make
it harder to spit it out.

Let the truth find its way out of your mouth
and breathe; you can rise without being
acknowledged.

Rise my boy, rise.

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