calamity B

I never thought that life could be beautiful. I didn’t think any good things were meant for me aside from giving people laughs at a night show, with me slipping out the back door before anyone could catch me in the light. What i thought doesn’t matter, what matters is that i admit that i was wrong. And i do. I admit. Hellfire and broken arms — i admit it.
I didn’t get where i am by luck. I gave in every time life got hard and i cried and i bled and i died over and over and over again, but i still went on with all those cigarette burns and piss sodden pants i was locked away for. I always said what if? I never believed a single dream to be too stupid to try.  And thats how i ended up in the BlackHills on a god damn stagecoach with the love of my life. Pulled by a sweet pair of Haflingers called Tuff and Tea.
If i had given up all those times that i thought the world did not belong to me, well i’ll go on and say what you’re not supposed to, the world would’ve been mighty poor with me six feet deep. A lot of kids in bad schools would’ve had to take their own beatings, cause i wouldn’t have been there to stand in for ’em while they ran to some place safe.
I’m good at a lot of things, and i’m bad at a couple, but lately i’ve been trying real hard to find out what it is to be me and living on every edge of the American frontier. Only now, the first day of the rest of my tomorrows, do i know that i’ll do it all. Eventually

There’ll be no choosing this over that, calling her over him or giving up that to live like this. I can’t be one thing, i’ve tried and in my heart it don’t make no sense.
I wasn’t born for that. I’ll be the artist my mother is, the musician my father is and i’ll be the parent my stepfather showed me — the heart that a man could be.
If those days come my way. I’ll write, i’ll be the runner i wanted to be, i’ll feel it all a little harder than most but thats how you get me. I live through all those pains, bad eggs and rotten boys so others can read about it in their sun room with a cup of tea, from a dusty porch with a bloodhound at their knee or simply for myself. I sit here and i write for all of you, but the most important of my writing is that every word, letter, broken heart and bloody gape its all for me. To keep on living through hell to see the sunset in Texas. To see it all. And maybe one day, when it’s time to die, i’ll be able smile at myself and say, “holy shit, you did it. You did it all. And yet still, you’ll never find sweet tea in South Dakota girl. Thank hell for that.”

So when you think that bad thought about giving in, or letting her walk all over you or whatever the hell pain you see yourself in. Turn the fuck around and go a different way. Get out of that sad bad marriage, let go of that ugly feeling you get when you look at yourself. Flush it out like Sundays Curry and move the hell on with your life. If this cynical bastard before you can do that — there ain’t nobody who can’t. Be you. Be selfish. Be good. Be human. So you did a few bad things — its ok they’re only mistakes. And help change the world.

Where words fail.
Words fail.