" crying is for men "

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you're sitting in the men's restroom and the world around your tiny cubicle of momentary comfort is full of men who are urinating, washing, grooming, coughing, and preening.

of course you have to be trying to hide your muffled whimpering; the tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. that tightness in your neck contracting uncontrollably, giving away to deep throaty inhuman, and altogether animalistic soundscapes.

it's nothing new, so why burst into tears now?

all of your pain inexplicably making an appearance at this moment? and so all-of-a-sudden.

naturally it would have to be when surrounded by strangers in a public lavatory, and of course in a location where you cannot hide this man-child sense of bawling by pretending to be having a violent bout of recurring lower intestinal disorders of the worse kind.

no, you are crying in the men's restroom and everyone knows it. how does it feel?

love never felt so far away from you at this moment. nothing was lost but unnecessary hopes. nothing was gained but apparent truths. it's no wonder the world is closing in on you.

you will feel like letting loose and screaming at the top of your lungs to be fair to your natural instincts, but realize that airport security might come to investigate why a bathroom stall is in such an emotionally unstable state.

buck up guy. you'll get through it soon, and when you do, i promise you'll be even more confused than when you entered.

promise. welcome back to reality.

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