That is what we do, we civilized human beings, especially we tough ones.
I cry as I pen my words to you. We have bequeathed this world to you. This deeply saddens me. I’m profoundly sorry for your pain.
I so want to protect you but I need to tell you sooner than later. I wish with my entire being that it were not true.
There may be times that you’ll bleed from the inside-in. You’ll feel you don’t know what to do. You’re confused because you heard from some fool, somewhere that boys don’t cry.
That is a fantasy, Dear Young Male.
Resilient boys cry. Men cry.
That is the reality.
There may be times in life when tears will fill your entire being. They’ll turn your blood cells to heavy crystallized salt. Sharp edges. Points that stab at your fragile, vital organs. They’ll uncaringly pierce a major vessel. You will feel like you’re slowly bleeding right straight to death.
You can’t fight back the demons which taunt you morning, noon and night. Your tainted, tear filled blood will travel through you in ruminating circles, leaking into every cell. All alone in the dark, you may seek answers. You might observe early on in your world that violence is an easy choice.
Or you can cry. You can talk. You can run and walk. Reach out. Strong boys cry. Men cry.
Perhaps a morbidly curious glance at a website leads you to an idea which relieves the ever mounting pressure.
Do not indulge the message. It is a fantasy.
Do not amass an arsenal of weapons or even one.
Do not take your bleeding self to we, the innocent masses in an attempt to heal your one desperately wounded soul.
Don’t pop, pop, pop your pain into we civilized humans spilling our blood to heal yours.
Just cry. Keep crying until someone, somewhere opens their heart to yours.
That’s what we do, we civilized human beings.
Dearest Young Male,
Someone, somewhere loves you.
Do reach out.
Do it again.
But don’t you murder us.