Asleep in her den, she dreams.

I dream of becoming the lioness
who sits on her throne of stone
I think I can I know I can...at least I want to,
be - the id, the instinctual animal lying -
dying to be let free from inside of me
I need to act on a notion -
a care free whim -
a who gives two shits attitude -
an undeniably thorough concept
yet mistake driven yet null and void of any regrets
I am the lioness
whose eyes posses a beauty masked with a cunning twinge enveloped in that thing -
that thing -
that thing - that makes a woman a woman
that thing - a hundred times more luring then a scent...long flowing locks...or a vagina.
It's that thing.
That person we all dream of being.
It's that thing.
That person we could be if we were...if we had...if only...
Dammit, it's that thing, it's who we already are -
hand crafted in our core,
by the women, past lionesses who dreamed long before.