Long Live the King

(by M. Allshouse)

I wanted so desperately to be yours—

cast myself at your feet

like a king upon a throne.

My boundaries became penance

as you taxed my self-worth.

You crowned me queen—

a gift, you said.

But the penance

was far more

than I ever scrounged for at your feet.

I was promised royalty,

yet cast as jester—

performing in the court

while you aired our secrets

just to see

if I could still smile

for sport.

Long live the king—

a hollow praise

on the tongues of paupers

clinging to your grace.

The words taste sour,

like warm milk meant to comfort

but left too long on the flame.

Loving you became law.

Exile: the capital punishment

for a crime I never committed.

I was innocent—

but like Henry,

you had no qualms

beheading old queens

when a new one appeared.

And now—

do I pledge fealty

out of loyalty,

or out of spite?

Convinced the only way

to save my neck

is to sacrifice my spine.