Dichotomous denial.

The vicissitudes of life is unfolding in strange ways.
Me being designated as a femme fatale
Exuding unique gorgeous intellect.

Perennially conducting intrigues in the form of young and old

Fancifully ready to flirt.

With mummifying flummery which I least deserve.

Affording social and romantic amusements are for the venturesome
Fails to capture me in its fold.

For I prefer sinking into insignificance
Than clutter my life with men

Except for poetic unwinding
Which detoxifies my suppressed urges.

When women are going great lengths, charming pants off!
I consciously and verbally elbow out men with my intimidating presence

Sequestering myself
Looking for answers as to where am I leading.
Loosing or winning.

Occasionally the woman in me desires to breakdown sexual boundaries
To be indulgent in ephemeral pleasures.
But the inwardly wandering thoughts tugs me back to reality
Chaining me.

Maybe the instinctive mistrust for men who use and dump.
Or the thought of coming home to clutter at the cost of marital discord.
That's why I keep a safe distance from all of them.
Except for the occasional flirting which I can at the most afford

This dichotomy of my persona bewilders me
As to who am I.
What am I seeking

A woman who seeks for adventure
Or a woman in denial.