My father was a broken man. Do you know a broken man? To: I love my broken man. Me: If your man has hope, then I would bet that he is in a better place than my dad ever was. I think my dad equated broken with being unchangeably bad. Do you know? The cold clinical way in which he said he fucked me up, as if it was no subject for debate. My dad, being antisocial, did not see the blessing of having friends like the one who first saw through my own imperfections. I just hope your man doesn’t disown his own brokenness. Can you see how disowning your brokenness makes you even more paralyzed? So much energy is needed to maintain the lie. A part of me is still paralyzed. I hope I unlock it someday. Do you know a broken man?
