“Oh, GOD!” we cried. “Please help us with the burdens of being a man!” We have felt weighted down by our identities for too long. Our emotions have been held within inside us for too long. “How do we teach our sons to release their pain, GOD, Oh GOD?” Our sons fear their fathers. Our sons are afraid to become real men. Our sons want to become their fathers in order to take revenge against their own fathers. “Oh, GOD, help us!” We want our sons to play pianos, we wanted our sons to love their husbands, we want them to love who they are. “Oh, GOD, teach us to love our sons. Oh, GOD, teach us to hug our sons!” We want our wives to believe in us, men, again. “Oh GOD, teach us, men, how to accept ourselves!”
I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.
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