1900
In her palm she held her destiny,
but in her mind she held an inevitable fate. The premonitions of all stereotypes seemed true
& too she believed. A jewel renowned jezebel. The hammer rang chimes and church bells,
but never whispered her name. She believes she was never a child of God, but of something more sinister.
It is he who holds the hammer. And who is she? A woman
with masculine and feminine role modeled fairy tales that never bothered to creep out of fantasy.
Her father was a rolling stone whom never bothered to play her tune, her mother more shadow than body,
but even in the light she faded. She held her body as a temple to be explored only by kings. For she was queen.
Why so many peasants explore her jewels like a vacant art exhibit? Explicit instructions to look but don't touch,
all her rules discounted and disregarded and she allowed it. Permitted hands
to become instruments. She needed someone to play her organs to her blues
and to their hip-hop and their rock and roll. Something to drown out the silence of her father's records
and her records of her father. A body to tell her body's story. One that began with a casket opening and a eulogy
printed on her certificate of birth. Her name read diamond, but translated coal and ash. All that was left of her. She,
a flame ignited by winter winds. Gave up her body like an artifact to men who hunted jewels like pirates.
The ones who spent their time mining for cells and caskets. The ones who spoke the language of no good
and ain't . So mirrored to pity, the lump upon her belly became a child of karma. And that fragile body would bear the same title. Her spine often horizontal
as she attached her eyes to ceilings. Something that she could never go beyond. So she embraced her flesh as hammer
and trigger. And expressed promiscuity through triggers and barrels. And her mind was a bullet
to pierce her pride. Her body was lethal. Second amendment given in to seconds of pleasure. She was a pistol,
ready to blow the minds and bodies of all she encountered. But she was weapon and victim,
with bullets that only seemed to harm her. Because they would depart with a smile
while her muscle memory had no recollection of the gesture. She failed to embrace the queen as she. I,
only a witness to the self-inflicted wounds, nursed mine from afar. For, I too couldn't grasp royalty.
I couldn't grip the essence of King. Therefore, I couldn't acknowledge the queen in my presence.
And now we're both weapons of our own destruction. Ready to sacrifice ourselves in the name of ourselves at any moment.
