Heavy are the thoughts of my crown—
shining like praise, sitting like gold,
but weighing like stone. A halo to some,
a shackle most days. To rule, or to ruin—
always my own.  

Strangers slip seamlessly into the crowd,
positive, negative—all charges allowed.
Their pull is soft, then suddenly loud.

And here I split a poem in two: I am a
double entendre, a meaning doubled—
a double-edged sword that cuts away
the rules, and the cut you take when
you refuse.

–––

Once formal—but now cutting ties, from
those who cut me. Knowing is freedom
dressed sharp, but dressed like an excuse.

I am the canopy stretched over my throne,
the highest branch of dreams I’ve grown.
Shade to protect, shade to conceal—
comfort by day, a curtain from light.

But get under my skin, and you’ll taste
the irony— me throwing you shade.
You’ll stand in it, unseen in my sight—
just another stranger, swallowed by night.