I built a throne,
in the darkest parts of me,
where the light wouldn't reach.
I wasn't ready to wear the crown,
or own my royalty.
The vines grew over my name,
tangled in my mane,
until I was caged
with shame.
I knew I was worth more,
but I could not remember,
what it felt like to roar.
I was muzzled, muted,
from sheathing my claws
to stay inside their box,
against the paradox;
trying to fit in
while my soul knew I was wild.
It is the act of a child
to deny the lineage we are given.
Purple is the cloth
I was made to live in.
I pruned all the kudzu,
determined to find my throne,
polished the coronet
whispered "we're far from over yet"
until it gleamed.
Now when I glimpse my reflection
I finally see
a Queen