Some of us are lost. Broken up into tiny pieces
Each one festering chaotically at willÖ
Lost causes, never able to be reached.
Not by any man. Not by any woman.
But some of us men are still reachable.
The weight of the world comes down to bear.
And our backs are hunched over as tightly as time.
But weíre not broken yet. Our wits are still about us.
This world doesnít understand anymore.
Itís partly our fault, keeping women under-thumb for so long.
But I feel like Iíve been paid back ten-fold.
And I didnít do anything. Never even knew my father.
I wasnít ever trained to keep a woman under my control.
But women have been trained well since the revolution.
Women these days ďdonít take no shit.Ē
They know what a ďreal manĒ is, and each knows what she wants from him.
But to her dismay, all she sees is a bunch of decaying corpses
And skinny little weakling guys all bent-over.
Of course, all the good ones walking tall are already taken.
I might be wrong, but I donít think she truly understands the situation.
Iíve carried my world past many a woman in my day.
Woman who do nothing but study me on a surface-level
They stand in groups to point and laugh.
Picking me apart amongst themselves.
How do you think it is that the corpses got there, ladies?
It was either you or the booze, or something even worse.
But donít pull shit with meÖ you canít look at the littered floor
And say youíve had nothing to do with any of it.
The problem isnít in the men, but in how you view them.
When you look at a guy like me, you see no shining Apollo.
You see a skinny little twerp who cries himself to sleep at night.
Always complaining about the world on his shoulders. A world you donít feel.
Because somewhere in the very back of your minds, ladiesÖ
You know youíre beautiful. And you know there will be men with money.
And while you take pride in doing things yourself.
Thereís an unwritten code that if youíre a charmer, you wonít have to.
Men donít have that. We canít live at home well into our twenties.
We canít hide from the meteors crashing down upon our financial Earths.
We have to put faith in our spines and try to shoulder the load.
Those moans you hear are of pain, not of sorrow.
Iíll tell it to you straight, and you wonít believe me.
Because we hide our faces with our hands, muffling the shrieks.
And my brethren are all shying away from me now.
We want you to be fooled. I donít know why.
Itís one thing Iíve never understood about how weíre brought up.
Itís an arrogance of sorts. Itís a feeling of wanting you to know
That we could just stand up and do it at any time.
That we really donít need your help, weíre just shirking duty.
We are not all gods. Not every spine can bear it.
Thereís no telling whoís faking and whoís real.
Some of us will stand on our own and some of us break.
Some of us need help, and wonít admit it.
This is where you come in. Yes, you, precious.
You with painted nails, you come over here and try to lift this rock!
Easier said then done, eh? What? You shouldnít have to?
If you keep those nails painted all your life, thereís a good chance youíll be lonely.
Only some of us will stand on our own.
And thereís not enough to go around.
Which means some of you will have to make an investment.
Look into his soul to find hope of large returns.
If you can ever bring it upon yourself to fall in love
With a man bent-over, and slowly falling.
Youíve damned yourself to a lifetime of stress
And heartache as you watch his pieces decay.
But if you can lower yourselves, ladies.
And find a man hunched over and ready to fallÖ
Pushing with everything heís got, swearing at visions
Roaring madly, muscles tremblingÖ
This is the man you should meet eyes with.
This is your prince charming.
As weak as he may seem now
This is your strongest lever.
Use his spine as a channel for your will.
Whisper victory in his ears seductively.
And when it comes down to it, be more than willing
To plant your hands on his chest and help him push.
A wise woman is adamantium in the spine of a man.
A woman who thinks only of herself is rottenness in his bones.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Donít plan on painted nails all your life.
Itíd be nice to be able to shoulder the load alone.
Us men would buy that in a second!
But even when we achieve a joint victory.
Most of us will take all the credit.
Weíre socialized that way. Itís in our ego.
We do need to be reminded. But gently.
Never in public. Never when our chest is in full view.
Remember the meteor that never stops falling.
The second he loses it mentally, everythingís on you, ladies.
A man knows when heís done, and he takes his death bravely.
So are you going to keep one hand in his pocket, ready to leap aside?
Or are you going to use both hands for pushing the rest of your life?
ÖIs the choice really yours?
ÖOr are you a daughter of Christ?