Every day, I stare into the mirror
and search for the man they told me to be.
The one with broad shoulders,
a chiseled chest,
a face that screams "masculine."
I lift, I run, I strain,
all to fit into a mold
that was never made for me.
The mirror whispers,
"Not enough."
But what if my enough
was never meant to be measured by muscle,
by sharpness,
by what they think a man should look like?
So I'll stand here,
in my own reflection,
quietly defying the weight of their gaze,
finding strength not in the body they want,
but in the man I am becomingâ
in the truth that says
I don't need to look a certain way
to be enough.