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.