Mince your words,
You've done it before.
Bow like you're in the presence of Royalty.
He's royal.
Lording over you, after all.
But he's short.
They're all short.
Yet you...
The self-proclaimed miser,
King of the words,
You have nothing of substance to say.
What a plot twist.
What a change.
You weakling.
Confidence doesn't suit you.
It doesn't match your eyes.
Hypocrisy, a great design on you.
It brings out the color
Of your lies.

Go.
Pounce now.
Trap your prey
In jowls of fanged, dangerous mercy.
It's brutal.
Yet a kindness.
Your coat of reflection,
And piercing blue eyes of trepidation,
And legs of boundless lightning
With a voice of deep white thunder.
The envy of it all.
You stalk and watch,
and sing
Such a song.
Haunting.
Pure.
A calling.
Calling to home.
Lost in the snow
To the naked eye,
But not lost at all.
The cold greets you.
Like you, sweet and cruel.
Take form.
Take chase.
Claim the Winter Kingdom to rule.

She deserves to be spun around at a ball.
She deserves to be treated like the queen.
She deserves to be gazed upon as regal.
She doesn't deserve ridicule and tease.

She tries to see the good in others' minds.
She tries to be the good girl next door.
She tries to be happy, not for show.
She deserves to be a princess, brave and sweet.
She deserves to be the heroine who saves.
She deserves to be the one you smile at and greet.
She doesn't deserve lonesome misery.

She tries to smile through the pain that haunts her eyes.
She tries to hide the clouds that block her sky.
She tries to act mature and sassy all day.
But at home she knows life won't go her way.
Someday, not today, I see her getting married.
Someday, not today, she'll start a life to lead.
Someday, not today, she'll see life isn't always high school.
Someday, I hope today, she'll be the woman that she needs.
The woman with the brave heart I see.

But on this night, she will go home crying.
But on this night, her dreams went down in flames.
Her lover lied, now her feelings need a restart.
Another sad victim from a colony of lustful hearts.

So...

If you love her, stay.
Don't abandon her in shame.
She's no toy to play.
Hold her heart steady.
Treat her like royalty.
Don't **** with her feelings.
She's no toy to play.
Hold her heart steady.

Not because she needs a white knight.
She doesn't.
All she needs is what every other human being needs:
Support.

Debt

If I made you king
that doesn’t mean
you get to exercise
dominance on my free will

If I made you king
that doesn’t mean
you get to rearrange the chambers
of my heart to fit your comfort

If I made you king
that doesn’t mean
you get to enjoy your castle
the way you please

If I made you king
that doesn’t mean
you forget what it’s like
to be human

If I made you king
that doesn’t mean
you ally with my weaknesses
and keep my strengths in the dark

If I made you king
that doesn’t mean
you summon wars
in my ribcage
to shake my very core
with battle cries

If I made you king
that doesn’t mean
I am in debt to your royalty

If I made you king
that doesn't mean
you are one

she was art 
she was the part 
that no one could account for
greatness in her contour 
creativity seeping from out of her pores 
dripping onto floors 
like wet paint 
she ain’t 
ordinary 
every bit of her 
extraordinary 
and she wore it very coronary
as if it were a crown 
and if you were to look down 
on her head 
what she said 
was more than remarkable
the fire she kept 
inside her re spark-able
like a fuse 
she is everyone’s muse 
truly an inspiration 
a beautiful creation 
freckles aligned on her face
like constellations
refusing to be complacent
adjacent from
a galaxy that glistens
driven by ambition 
as she paints herself with liquin
colors vibrated against her skin 
you can hear them closely,
if you listen
you could hear them as she spoke
her breath strokes like brush strokes 
ever so soft and subtle 
her palette slightly muddled 
as oranges and blues cuddle
leaving dull minds fuddled 
nothing can suddle such a divine mechanism
but her scheme vibrant with rhythm 
seeing the world in her vision 
through her own prism
consuming herself in the bristles 
she is blissful
every curl in her hair wistful
as every lock wrapped around
one another twistful
she was sublime
as she saw herself as redefined
soaking herself in turpentine
painting a new path
like a phoenix, she arose
from the ash
bouncing back
like stretched canvas
she grabbed in a hand, with
gesso in the other
making her slate blank
to enjoy different palettes
and different paints
an artist 
unable to part with 
success

Take my gold and frisk my crown
          Pull jewels from my neck and scrub the expensive oils from my skin
          Burn the fine linens and strip me of my silks
I have no need for such trivialities.

     Turn your face from me and harden your heart
           Cast me out from my home, my sanctuary
           I shall die in a shelter rather than a palace, but all the same,
I shall be just as dead here as there.

     Lose me my birthright, my title and my throne
           Change the name on the scroll of the fate I was born for
           Sell your right-hand seat to the prettiest bidder
I will die knowing I would not sell out.

     You, the one I held in my foolish heart so dear,
          Can take away from me everything I gave you
          But you cannot take the strength with which I was born, for
I represent the one virtue you cannot own.

     Replace me if you must but know that I will lie in peace
           Forget me if your heart allows it, but never forget
           That I-- the woman who dares defy the king--
I hold more power in my will than you have in your court.

Disclaimer: I did this as a creative rewrite for one of my university lit courses, and all the inspiration and quotes belong to Robert Browning the original writer of "My Last Duchess"

HIS LAST DUCHESS
ARRIVEDERCI
“That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive.” (I’m not)
Alas! Me, “a wonder.” He calls.
Now wretchedly refined and pasteurized.
To be consumed, now, for genteel eyes.
Pity! Should you ever see me roll mine.
Behind those curtains, you might have been surprised
To see my countenance whimpering
At you Sir; and seething, at Him.
Must you not be fooled by that sickly decorum
Upon which his manly pride resides.
The Duke—what rich talent in envy he has,
And of pithy idiosyncrasies! Pardon me now
As I speak of his infamies: Is it not,
Too preposterous of a Duke, to sulk
And take offense, over a blush?
(As if the blush was his to wield and shun.)
Am I not allowed to flush at all?
And must I be ashamed of being swooned
By the casual offers of life’s grandiosities?
Each and every, dropping of the daylight,
Ripen cherries in May and chivalrous gentlemen,
my dear white mule; must I then weep
at them all, only to prove my fancy for him.
And when does gracious gratitude itself
become in vain: a finite honour—
deemed excessive elsewhere?
Never had he plucked me out, for censure,
Before he gave commands, I knew he did
To pluck the smile out of my face.
Utterly clueless—he thought I was
To find myself throttled, for immodesty.
A wife, an appendage to a Duke,
Loosely felled, to stroke a green-eyed ego.
My fault it seems, is a mere generosity
Of affection: falsely opined, if not
Misread, to fare a defect of temperament,
A chronic malady, doth be cured by death.
To cement the farce he will, soon, bring you
Downstairs to meet a friend. (a fiend)
A prized possession: Neptune, taming a sea-horse.
His hubris incarnate, cast in bronze.
But you must know the truth, for the sea-horse
Did not perish for naught, she is freed from him
At last.

"you know, a thief who has stolen from a queen is typically locked away, never to see the light of day again."
"yes, but perhaps my heart was given, not taken."