Sadness is bad ass. It's stronger than fear and subtle than joy. To say it's over is really very hard. You can't define the end of sadness, but you can that of happiness; and that is sadness. It has a systematic methodology in breaking down a human life piece by piece, organ by organ, cell by cell to thought by thought and feel by feel. Degeneration has never been so evident as what sadness causes.
I've seen the women weep, but it's always a little different when the man weeps. One minute he is all that can keep health and wealth in tact, next minute hes' tears fall with echoing thuds, shattering a courage or two and a hope or two. The sobbing is worst. It keeps coming in patterns attempting to gasp for air, or maybe life you might think. It sends so much of body reflexes showing the amount of control the mind and body is under now. All you do is, sit and watch. While you watch, you want to know what's next. When is recovery going to come and will he live down the shame? The solitary minute of weeping in front of you will he live it down? Can you live it down? Feel not too alone, not too wrecked to know this whole life is up to you, no matter how many are there for you in person? Wreckage is meant to call on doubts and doubt is a monster who lingers for a very long time, time being a monster of its' own of course. I always hated time. bah!
Maybe men need to cry. Maybe that's what lacks a bad man. Maybe that's what causes sexual harassment. Maybe that's what causes a man choose violence as the emotional out put. Maybe that's the cause of the Sexist you live with. Maybe masculinity was defined wrong by Merriam Webster and now a whole sex suffers and feels defeated at the event of shedding a tear even when its' the biological process of resisting something that just went into your eye.
Well, I made up my mind. I want a man who cries. So cry for me baby, cry.
