She was different.

Call it cliched or blatant honesty,

It was perhaps in the way she held that gun,

with confidence and prowess

like the precision of a leopard

with it’s eyes on a helpless prey;

vicious and cold.

She was different.

In the strangest of ways.

Like the snow that slowly melted

when the earth hinted of spring.

Her eyes spoke not of pain,

but of memories treasured and a life lived.

Masking a hidden mistress,

her club swung with force

harsh, steady and strong.

Her walk echoed the words:

Balanced, Beautiful, Bold;

She was different.

Unlike your storybook definition,

Hard to get a grasp on

and impossible to predict.