I only feel like a woman on the outside.

Because I like to win,

and men always win.

They are bigger.

They are stronger.

They climax faster.

And you never find them on the couch on a Saturday night

eating a pint of ice cream and bashing their significant other…

The don’t love as quickly,

and when they love they don’t love as hard.

They lust and call it love,

never knowing the depth of the commitment love requires.

They confuse the momentary pleasures of sex

for real emotion.

Women willingly drive full speed and crash into it.

Love.

Knowing it could very well kill them before all is said and done.

She pours her all into it until she can no longer distinguish “me” from “us”.

Men don’t wear their hearts on their sleeves,

they don’t feel.

Women don’t so much wear their hearts on theirs sleeves as plaster them on their foreheads.

Men don’t cry unless they are alone

shielded by four walls which would never betray their secret weakness.

Women openly use the shirts of friends as tissues.

Women are weak.

Vulnerable,

soft, feeble and open.

They feel pain, heartache, and heartbreak.

They live and die by the idiocy, absurdity, senseless and stupidity

that is love.

Men are strong.

Cold, hard, unyielding, and closed.

They feel no pain, no heartbreak, no hurt.

No blind devotion.

No illogical attachment No unwavering loyalty No love.

Wait, who is the winner here again?