Growing up I was taught to wait
for a knight in shining armor, ready for battle even if the battle is with
the woman he is supposed to protect
beating her brain, telling her she will never be good enough.
or the victorious king, full of himself,
taking any women he sees fit
while marking their flawless bodies with regret.
or a young charming prince, eager to kiss and take
what he does not have permission for,
but feels he is entitled to after slaying a dragon.
Growing up I was taught to wait.
But what I found wasn’t a man in a false position of power
But a woman, delicate with the shape of every curve
and never a porcelain doll held in a protective case.
Her body is not flawless, scars mark passages of skin
each a reminder of the struggles she endured.
She is never careless in any touch, but willing to wait for
just the right moment, the right moan, to kiss my thigh.
Her ability to never rush, reminding me to just enjoy
the moments together.
She is not a warrior-princess, but simply a survivor,
striking down those who earn her distrust.
She could run my country better than any king,
Uniting our family inside the nation
and relying only on those who rely on her first.
What I found is my Queen.