So often must I resist the thoughts of disappointment.

In the span of constructing the prior sentence, I have breathed vapors of this sensation, exhaling the propensity to succumb to these weights.

And, too heavily do these millstones of defeatism weigh upon my shoulders, assuredly on your own, and doubtlessly haunt our growth and maturation towards the persons we might, or not, feel comfortably living, and dying in.

Who do I feel I have lost touch with?  From where does this crushing monolith of self-defeatism emanate?

Have I failed my father?

Has he failed me?

Is it a matter of us simply living our lives, trying  to do *social influence implied*  our best.

Will this effort make me a man?

What the fuck does it mean to be a man?

Rage and cantankerousness, violent gnashing, and pubescent disrespect can’t trash the will and intent for individualism.  Yet at no point is there a release valve for the sea of responsibility towards the gravity/disappointment that is harbored in a man/womans soul.

Guilt is an inheritance.  Guilt for the past. Guilt for what can’t be unteached.  Guilt for the father, the mother, and the offspring.

Send it to your progeny, because its a guilt/gift you didn’t want.  Accept it as your calling because you were born to it.

Or, shout that you are free of it! Demand that you don’t see of it, and will not bear the fee of it.

But for everyones sake,

Try not to pass it to those who deem you a care giver, or prophet, or at any time, a role model.

Humbly yours,

J