YOU ARE NOT A KING

YOU ARE NOT A KING 

You tell me that your wife is a queen 
And your daughter is a princess, 
Insisting I could have happiness 
If I didn’t act like a miserable motherfucker 

Yet you cannot stop talking about 
Your myopic perception of the world 
As a place that hates you for every reason 
Except a reason that would put some blame squarely on you. 

You imagine a queen and a princess because it’s difficult to just be people.  
You are not a King. You were never a Prince. 
I disregard the idea someone be venerated or dismissed 
Due to the circumstances of their birth. 

I live outside of the tribes that make you so angry. 
I care nothing of the tribal grounds where you hide 
And cast your racial and political aspersions like loaded dice 
Into the tents of other equally inane villages. 

I am beyond that. 
My eye of blame will often gaze directly into me.  
You are not a king but insist you are 
And I am not a king but I don’t want to be one. 

I’m alone in a small room right now, typing this poem 
While I listen to good music and drink a cup of black coffee. 
I know my place in the world and I accept it. 
I watch the spider whose web I allow in a corner of the room and I smile. 

I know I’m happier right this moment than you will ever be.