Men, love, and sex.
That seems to be 50% of the ongoing traffic in my brain now-a-days. The other 50% is theatre, poetry, music, NYU, goals, and "Damn, I'm so fucking hungry for __________." Men have one-track minds -- they constantly think of sex. But alas, women are more complex creatures. So the sex is often attached to the men they want to have sex with (or women; of course I'm not trying to exclude my lesbian sisters) and the men that they love so much that they want to have sex with.
And that's where we get fucked over.
L-O-V-E. It's dangerous territory. I once read a quote: "Love is not a battle, it's the whole war." Yeah, well, love is also the enemy. And love will kill your ass if you cross its lines. And you can quote me on that. Love is not for the faint of heart. Yet so many of us with our figurative asthma and heart disease yearn for, lust for, and dive into it blindly.
Ladies, we're doing it all wrong. We can't just hand them everything on a silver platter... and then act surprise when they pawn that platter for a cheap ring to give to their new whore. No... We have to stay guarded, armored, and have our AK-47s loaded, aimed, and ready to fire. Because if we're not, love will ambush you, take you as a P.O.W., and won't release you until the war is over. And we never quite know when it's over.
Anyways... I'm Michelle. This is one of my many rants on love. I promise to post something more cohesive and theme-oriented within the next few days.,
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