Where Have All the Real Men Gone?

Where should I sleep tonight? On the couch I guess. Both of the men in my life are f**king chickens. And I’m too proud to beg a chicken to let me sleep next to him.

Why are all the men in my life the same? Why do I keep attracting the same man over and over again? Or are all men in the universe exactly the same?

What is the big f**king deal? Why can’t you show your emotions? Why can’t you feel your emotions? What the f**k are you hiding from?

I pour my heart out for you again and again – all of you. All of you were too scared to lift the veil, so for all of you, I sacrificed myself. I opened myself, I bled for you… and you couldn’t even repay me with the tiniest crack of vulnerability.

You’re not men. You’re mice. A real man would reciprocate vulnerability. A real man wouldn’t run from intimacy. A real man would face his fears and learn how to love a f**king woman, and f**king tell her he loves her.

A real man would notice when she started to cry and ask her what’s wrong. A real man would just hold her if she didn’t have an answer. A real man would shed a tear too when he saw hers roll down her face.

A real man would remind her she’s strong when she feels weak and beautiful when she feels insecure. A real man wouldn’t run and hide from her feelings, or his. A real man would sit and face them and talk about them. A real man would chase after her when she ran away, too exhausted to keep trying.

But you’re not a real men, are you? You’re just chickens.


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