Who is She?

Spies. A heroine. Perhaps. In a way. Or...just a real life, with real people, doing the wrong thing, and someone applying everyday justice and ... conniving.

They watch, wait, they have the time and space;
with cameras and bugs, lying and two faced.
She sees; she's not blind to the secrets they bury;
she's not tranquil, she hasn't doused her fury.

Hate them? No. That's more than they deserve.
Emotions are useless, they only serve to unnerve.
Sabotage, silence, and spying is her game...
she's learned her lesson, they've only themselves to blame.

She is the fox, waiting for her hunter;
they may have brawn, but they're dumb, and she's clever.
For every 10 mistakes she makes, they make 20;
she's gone; they've entered life's forest, wasted time hunting.

Twigs snap loudly, she hears them approaching;
knew what they thought, before they even thought of thinking.
The hilarity of this absurdity is truly absurd,
because 'stupidity', regarding them, is too flattering a word.

Who is she; devious fiend learning from each fall?
Absorbing like a sponge, yet hard as a stone wall.
This girl, this being, fighting, striving, to be all she can be;
she holds stacked deck, playing poker with life - this girl is me.

Author's Note

Yes yes...same time frame...dark...conniving...analytical...planning. Me. Yes, me. It is old, several years back...I've mellowed out, but...I was at war. No one is 'mellow' when doing battle.