Blue-blooded peasant.

Humble like my mama taught me,

Ironically proud of who I am.

A queen as matriarchal head of my house,

Princess in the eyes of Heaven,

Daughter of the most high.

My crown stays put,

Thru all the tumbles.

My best revenge is to make it look like nothing ever hurt me,

Secretly cursing you out with my “bless your soul”’s southern charm,

A prayer on my lips on Sunday morning,

A rhythm in my feet the day before.

I’m worth more than rubies,

As any woman should be.

My soul made of a celestial body nothing can destroy.

Where my vision will fade from my brown eyes,

Where my body will decay whilst buried,

Where my hair will become priceless silver,

My skin may become translucent,

My blue blood will run thin,

My soul shan’t perish.

In life,

I kiss my children’s tear stained cheeks,

And mend their wounds.

I referee the eternal fight between the three of them.

I mentor my daughter to be strong yet poised.

Woman.

Mother.

Wife.

Daughter.

Sister.

Friend.

Queen.

I am all these.

And more.

Might runs strong within me.

Hear me roar.