It was to the queen that I turned to when the tide rose. Accustomed to the bland kings and their drab prose I poked my nose in the direction of sympathetic winds and unlikely hypotheticals.
To the queen.
“Not I,” she said ever so gently. “Not I. Not today. For it is not my time, and this is not time’s way.” Of course I knew what she meant. I was a man and it was to men that I was heaven sent, but men are so stupid when you need something real- visceral miserable amidst this system nonsensical. And now nobody understands what I’m saying.
Let me try again.
To the queen I turned… and she gently turned me away… To the ground my eyes burned… but it too pushed me away…
So I cried to my God. “Lord… please fix this.” I’m still not quite sure if He listened, but my interactions within the ranks of my own gender have been laced with more tolerance. I don’t write people off as quick. I don’t sneer my nose at the perceived lack of intelligence. I work hard to give the gift I was given.
The ultimate source of inspiration.