My Queen

Her hums are the soulful tunes her hips sway to

Feet bare and gait graceful, she dances.

She dances from a cluttered island to a fiery stove

All with a smile wielded from the voyages of struggles endured and of victories conquered.

 

Though you say the pigment of her skin reflects no royalty,

The crown that rests on her head is one of dignity.

 

And you think it foolish

Her joy derives from a simple kitchen,

When what I see is beauty dwelling in her palace.

 

Now I understand what I witness you may never believe,

But here…

Here stands a queen.

—O.D.M

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