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.
This is beautiful.
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Thank youuu :*
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