heartbroke ‘n saddle sore,
now you tell me if this tellin’ gets old,
you stepped troubles first on California soil.
‘n you tell me, how was that first sunset,
you see the sun kissin’ itself in the water,
you find any sort of release?
or are you some big dumb firework of a man,
all fuckin’ lights ‘n noise,
‘n over in a blind-blink?
you stunk of whiskey ‘n cigarettes,
hearin’ voices in your head,
rememberin’ things that didn’t happen,
‘n you tell me,
all your lightnin’ ‘n thunder,
what in the hell did it get you?
all your drizzles ‘n downpours?
all your talk of sledghammer fists
‘n powerline veins,
what in the hell did that get you?
what kind of man, what kind of man–
there’s all kinds of love in this world,
she’s on the phone,
and I can hear the moisture fading in and out of her eyes.
beyond tired heartbreak metaphors,
beyond completely understanding what she’s saying at all.
a scream into a vast open space–
only echos if there’s something for it to hit.
you don’t forget a tone like that,
it ain’t the same as someone looking for attention,
and you can hear it,
you can hear the bits of them creaking under the weight of it,
listen to the rivits straining with the pressure,
run your fingers along bulged seams.
there’s all kinds of love in this world,
What kind of man am I?
I’m the kind of man who has breakdowns,
I’m the kind of man who like wearing dresses,
I’m the kind of man who likes kissing men and women,
I’m the kind of man who writes poetry late at night instead of sleeping,
and does it not because there is glory in his sadness,
but because there are lessons in it.
I’m the kind of man who knows what it’s like to hate himself.
I’m the kind of man who knows what it’s like to feel at war with your own mind.
I’m the kind of man who knows what antidepressants feel like,
what ADD meds feel like,
what running away into drugs and drink feels like,
what his toe edged line feels like.
I’m the kind of man who imagines himself razor edged,
but is likely blunt and rusted.
And without denying that I could be better,
that I should work to be better,
I’m the kind of man who is learning to love himself anyway.
there’s all kinds of love in this world,
there’s all kinds of sadness,
and if we’re honest,
we know nothing of either.
there’s nothing wrong with it,
it’s just the way of things.
It’s all about context, all–
all about context,
and the difference between yours and mine.
