Women

I am blessed. I am cursed.
I love women. Many of them are crazy. I seem to attract those. They seek me out. And I suffer. I get broadsided. I never see it coming. I continually wrestle with this contradiction that plagues but it steadily kicks my ass. More than I care to admit.
At times like this, after a day jam packed with irrational, estrogen fueled horseshit that I could’ve done without, I just want to disappear and be left alone. All I want is peace. And silence. Put some immediate distance between myself and the raging madness.
But I love women and I soon find myself craving a woman’s soft embrace, desiring a partner to face the world and all the inexplicable, unpredictable sadness and horrors life contains.
And there I go. Only a matter of time before I open my heart, then the facade drops, and once again I’m emotionally flensed.
I feel empty. Tired. Bewildered. Confused. But still, I long for their touch, their support, their understanding.
You see?
I am blessed. I am cursed.
And I can’t find my way home.
Balls.