The independent woman

The independent woman strives,
To win a race where only man thrives.
She fears not,
She surrenders not!
She is fearless,
As any lioness,
Out on a hunt.

Yes, she is a lioness,
Lonely with massive toughness.
She has learned not to rely no a man's help,
She has mastered to take the pain without a single yelp.
She is the picture of a rock through harsh weathers,
She has the scars,
Still she's not broken.
She stands tall and hurt,
Ready for the next battle.

The independent woman is hard,
She is cold when she has to be,
She is soft to the touch,
Like a cushion of a million feathers,
Few know this,
And when she weeps,
She is as quiet as a grave.

You might pity the independent woman,
She looks forlon most times,
Too ambitious to fit in today's society,
Too cold to have a heart,
Too independent to find a man!
She is the epitome of  sophistication,
With a touch of bitchy and self indignation.

You might admire her,
For her perfect image,
Her unwavering stature,
The wisdom her scars portray,
Her steely eyes that never betray.
She has the swagger of one who cannot be intimated,
Her aura of mystery draws you to her,
She frightens you yet you desire her,
You dream of sucking ice cubes,
You fantasize of being submissive,
Letting the controlling woman have power over you.

The independent woman is a layer of unfathomable depth,
Every layer you uncover triggers curiosity to dig deeper,
For she is a very deep woman,
And just like a witches pot,
You fall under her spell when you look into her.