Queendom.

Brother, king. This here is my queendom.

Draped in lavish silks, velvets and gold. Skin so smooth, so soft. Mahogany with a side of, mahogany. Deep brown eyes and 4c kinks which forever links me to my rich roots. My mind nourished with hundreds of books, from Eric Jerome Dickey to bell hooks. When my mind drifts, it crosses oceans and galaxies. Roam it does, free it runs. That’s why it’s so hard to capture my attention.

Brother king, I see me. I see that I have always been enough. Full, like a tall glass of rose water. I have always been enough unquestionably. Trust and believe.

So know that the love you give me will forever fall short to the love I give myself. The praise I give myself. The joy I bring myself.

Do you hear what I’m saying, brother king?

I see you’re on your grind and I know the world can be unkind, but respect me and my hustle in soring above the cage the world tried to put me in.

I’m flying high, right now. Physically as well as mentally. The world at my fingertips. Mind, body and soul, radiating inner peace and positive energy and by all means, bask.

But brother king, if your intentions with me shall inevitably clip my wings, I ask for you to let me be.

Leave me to bloom and blossom. Leave me to abundantly water myself, if you know you’re not enough to fill my queendom.

Queendom. This here is my queendom.