Why do women more than men prefer reading poetry?

Why do women more than men prefer reading poetry?

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What makes you think they do?

They are conduits of thrill and zeal and very much enjoy being such vessels.

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They don't.

We sure do love us some poems hurhur

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Check out the beak on the one on the left

barely anybody reads poetry beyond maybe a bit of meme 20th or 21st century free verse.

That schnoz was almost certainly reubened at a kibbutz, likely by a bristly pubic bone that was churning and bucking and caught her off guard, smashing down on her probiscoid cartilage with an audible snap, immediately showering the semitically hirsute muff with bright red nasally expelled spray and profanity-flecked vaginal and salivary foams.

A ton of bad poetry (eg Kaur, to some extent Plath but she's actually good) fits in with overromanticized vicarious style that's popular with modern women.
I've known more men than women who enjoyed good poetry, though- or even just enjoyed on more than an "identified with these emotions" level.

who's the red-head? I've seen her posted a few times with a spoon in her mouth and a retarded expression on her face

men are merely a type of semi-hairless gorilla-adjacent subhuman. their ugg ugg neanderthal brains only respond to immediate gratification and gratuitous depictions of sex and violence like found in v*deo g*mes and pornography. don't worry, it's not your fault you're subhuman. Now get in this chastity cage like a good ape-beast and mommy might let you play your precious vidya for an hour tonight after your chores are done.

They don't. Men don't go around announcing they read poetry, and no one is asking, gladly. Unless you're from sauda arbia and you got a cool last name, then I'm fucking asking if you like poetry for sure.

Hey women can't
you see?
your nasty vagina is 3 feet deep

She is a rake, a conjuring, a shambles, a sylph slithered from a slime bog's bubble, an emeraldine aura, a face beaming with a cardiac vigor, a profound feminine depth, a yonic tear in the multiverse's helical tapestries, an exhibition, a spectacle, inevitably but a woman, but with a crafty baring of thy self as her life's prologue, Liveblog serving as a new form, a gift, a treasure of English, a studious and strenuous and ungainly and absurd thing, an undertaking of mania and delusion, a pharmaceutically produced text, withering away her endocrine, adrenal, dopaminergic, gastrologic, homesostatic wellbeing, eroding it pill by pill because that is much the society in which we live and she's largely just being frank, open, transparent, radically trusting in, I hope, certainly not us rogues, but in something higher, truth, her truth, whatever it may be, it's hers to share with us.

Not sure. But I think poetry of the modern variety is inherently emotional. It's all about evoking feeling moreso than thoughts. Women live and act through their emotions, so it follows that they would be drawn to an artform which is catered to them.

>Immediate gratification
>Plant crops, build houses, hunt store food for winter

Are you confusing men with fucbois?

Wow. You would be a good writer with less mental illness.

Magnificent.

>illness
>per a modern
you cad

This. I've met a few men who read poetry good enough for long passages of it to adhere to memory, and spontaneously come to mind in conversation from time to time, but never a woman with that aptitude, which is essentially synesthetic, in the reading no less than in the writing of it.

>A spoon in her mouth
It's hardly your fault you're male and thus an interstitial creature, a set of human conditions aspirant and subservient to the feminine because they lie in agonized waiting for their reincarnations or reboots that might restore your masculine wretchedness to full human womanhood. The woman you see is a sister, a projectionist, a peruser of Akashic and Yonic apocrypha, a girl privy to more than we could ever disclose to this crude reality. The bipedal upright male must live and die much as the rockem sockem robot, whereas the illuminated woman knows we are not pawns but toruses, conditioned to our craven cavities, our cunts but one side of the torus' donut, our mouths making the other termiuns, which in Yonia is enough to remake the adept into a jet engine, blowing back your hair and lips as you vaginally jettison across bubblegum skies. Or for those without any need for speed, their toroidal twats can instead queef cetaceanesque bubbles, whimsical clouds of sparkling iridescence, fairy dust, roastie flotsam, laugh all you want but the unilluminated are but husks and frightening to behold by those who have been to Yonia, who have frolicked and vied in tribbing bouts before pantheons of interspecies females, sentient orbs and blobs blinking and burping their bets and encouragements much the same as the serpentiform and crustacean women, complete unabashedness, complete liberation.

Because only morons like poetry

...

Because people who're very open, and who have very good implicit memories love (who don't repress like men do and that have fluid minds with the doors of perception open and hence thin boundaries of the mind) reading poetry

What? they read mostly novels

Don't women read more than men in general?

They don't

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I haven't heard this before. Women are based and patricianpilled, I wish I were a woman so I could read poetry

They might be reading poetry on their phones