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They say grow the stache, raise funds, raise cheer,
But behind that grin, there’s a war in the mirror.
Where the jawline hides what the soul won’t speak,
And strength looks fine — but it’s quietly weak.
We stand like pillars, unmoved by the storm,
Pretending the cracks are just part of the form.
But inside the armor, the silence bleeds slow,
Because no one checks on the ones who just “go.”
We fix the machines, we build the blocks,
We bleed for our kids, we work through the shocks.
We bury our pain in a bottle or two,
And say, “I’m fine”, because that’s what men do.
But there’s truth in the tremor, the eyes that drift far,
A man’s not a statue — he’s a flickering star.
He burns through the dark to keep others warm,
And forgets that his fire can also deform.
They say real men don’t cry, yet our rivers run deep,
In nights with no rest and no promise of sleep.
When the world turns quiet, and the mind turns loud,
We drown in a sea of the thoughts unavowed.
We’ve lost too many — to rope, to pills,
To the emptiness heavy that no comfort fills.
And the hardest part? You’d never have guessed,
The smile they wore was their final protest.
So this month, this beard, this vow we renew,
Is more than the face — it’s a promise to you.
To the brothers who fight, unseen, unheard,
Your worth is immense, beyond any word.
Check on your friends — not the post, not the chat,
But the man who’s been fading and hiding from that.
The one who jokes loud but looks down when he speaks,
He’s been at war for uncountable weeks.
Grow the mustache — but grow your hand,
Reach for the hearts that barely stand.
Lift the light for the ones still near,
And speak for the brothers we lost this year.
Because Movember’s not just about style or hair,
It’s a rebellion against despair.
A moment to say, “You’re not alone,”
To pull each brother back home.
So wear that stache like a crown, not disguise,
Speak the truth, don’t swallow the cries.
For the quiet beneath the beard is clear —
It’s the sound of courage, year after year.
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I’ve had a mustache and beard off and on over the years but the hair keeps getting shorter as the years pass by. Too much hair is too much hassle.
I don’t know how this relates to this fine poem but, as Forrest Gump used to say, “And that’s all I have to say about that”
Haha, I totally get that, Chris — keeping up with hair can be a full-time job on its own. I should know; I have the same issue. 😄
But you know, that actually ties in more than it seems. We all shed a bit as the years go by — not just hair but pride, and even the masks we used to wear, hiding the pain that life brings us from time to time. What remains is the real us — a little older, a lot wiser, and a little kinder.
I appreciate you taking the time to read it, Chris. God bless you and yours always. 🙏😎
My wife cuts my top hair these days and has done it for years now. It was time the other day and so she got the little hair cutting machine out (it cuts your hair at the length you set for it) and cut off my top hair at the same length (3/8ths of an inch). I then proceeded to do the same with the beard and mustache myself.
Waking up this morning I didn’t even have to comb anything because I don’t have enough hair to get messed up. This cycle will be my “hair plan” for the rest of my life.
Like you stated most of us have less hair as we get older and I’m one of those who hasn’t lost much. The Hot Springs water that I drink has lots of minerals in it so that makes my fingernails and hair grow at a steady pace, the fingernails growing faster than ever.
I love the tie in you’ve mentioned here. Even though my hair is hanging in there (getting grey though) there are other things that aren’t doing as well. The aches and pains of getting older certainly do exactly what you have mentioned…the pride is checked, the mask comes down. The Holy Spirit is still working with me, thankfully, and I have a great Bible verse to remember:
“God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble. The real me is, hopefully, on the mend.
Thank you for your kind words and God bless you and yours as well!