Real women dont make life's biggest decisions based on what choices they are given. Darling we are creatures of creation, of manifestation, and much too patient to commit our hearts to anything other than the will of our creator. A real woman gets what she wants out of life without even lifting a finger. So long as the flames in her chest burn white and rampant, you'll know she's filled her own order when her gaze lingers. She knows anything not offered isn't ready for picking. She knows for every man that leaves her, there will be fifty dying to make her aquaintance. When a desire burns pure in her heart, no amount of muscle can contain her. She is the white peacock, plumage on display. She is the white peacock, she needs not to say, she only thinks and mostly feels, her good conscience leads the way. Here comes the rain dripping onto hibiscus, here comes the rain to illuminate. She awaits the morning light on her nest of realized dreams.