Her: The Freed Rebel

Her: The Freed Rebel

She was the description of a rebel.

Drove a motorcycle,

Dyed hair,

Smoked in High School.

She never listened to what anybody said,

She didn’t care about what other people thought.

She walked with her back straight,

Head held high.

She wore clothes that made everyone stare,

Not because she was wearing next to nothing

But, because her clothes looked like they had been enchanted.

Never had this shade of black been so elegant,

Or so deadly.

She was always rigid,

Like a cat,

A cat that was on edge,

Waiting for her next mouse to come in close.

She wore an old leather jacket,

With long nails to match.

She had smoke in her eyes,

And death at her back.

And death followed her around,

Like a lost puppy looking for food.

Obeying her at will,

And those who saw her instantly became still.

She never had a home,

Traveling around at night looking for the next thrill,

The next challenge.

Something to fuel her,

Tar in her veins,

Fire in her heart.

Anything to keep her going.

She liked to live that way,

Not bound to anyone or anything.

So she did.

Nobody got in the way,

She didn’t have to be afraid.

She made decisions in split seconds,

And she always knew what to say.

She wasn’t scared of the people in crowds.

She delivered each sentence with conviction,

And never had to settle for anyone’s opinion.

She’s the type of girl that is mysterious,

Her face, looking like stone and always so serious.

She’s the girl that wars start over.

She’s the girl that is the center of a party,

And never spends the night.

She’s the type of girl who will stand you up, because you’re a jerk.

She’s the type of girl that always speaks her mind.

She’s the type of girl every man wishes to find.

A wild stallion, that can’t be tamed.

A rare beauty hidden in flame,

With a past shrouded by pain.

She’s both the type of girl you run from,

and,

She’s the girl everyone wished they could be,

Just so they could truly be free.