I am primal. I am fervant. I will not be held down by the stereotypes this modern world has

fashioned for men. My heart cries out from the chasm, from depths I've long thought were lost. "Come at me!", I cry at the darkness. At least give me the chance to prove I am worthy- worthy to be called a man, a son of the King. Bring me a battle and I'll not let you down. Give me that chance, though all the world has left such things and succumbed to a somber dullness called ‘proper'. I am wild, and cannot be tamed no matter how many chains you put on me. I beat my chest and lash out at the calm ones, the ones that gave up their instinctual rights and caved to political correctness. I will not be bought. I will not be told what I should or should not do- not any more. I am primal once again, the rescuer of those in distress- the hero of my own story. I am a servant to the Most High, and to the shadows I yell with the strength of all those men who went before me- for in those shadows lie the cunning heart takers. Though they may break me, I'll never bend for them- not in this life or the one to come. As I've said, I fight for the King- the One who made me primal.     Evan Dawson