I walk down the street with my crown of a Masai-cloth turban, a long African-print dress and spiritual black circles drawn on my face. This is I.
I don't mean to provoke any thoughts in your mind nor do I wish to be seen as something that I am not. But you, being (hu)man and all, can only comprehend my being by boxing me into your little small mind so that everything in your world makes sense. You can not dare to jump, never mind peep out, of your dusty box lest you get lost and you have to go on a journey of self-discovery. Oh no, you're completely comfortable living in the dark. After all, ignorance is bliss.
So instead of letting me queen down the street in peace, you must make it known to me that you exist. I am not blind. I saw you from the corner of my eye lusting after my grace. I felt your unclean spirit disrespecting my womxnhood with your mind so that you could please your manhood.
What you are about to do you have done endless times. You have made your existence known by disgracing mine countless times. I wonder why I still have love for you after all that you have done to make me feel worthless.
You don't even bother to catch up with my godly stride. You don't need to. You simply call out to me like a master would to his servant: "Sexy African Queen!! You are so fine; I would like to make you the mother of my children!!"
That is it. That is all you have to say to strip me of the little greatness that the slavemaster hasn't already taken.
I do not respond to you. I do not even look at you. I will not let you have the satisfaction of knowing the damage you have caused me because even though you think you are respecting me (at least you didn't cat-call right? And you even called me a Queen and a mother- what more do I want right?) you are also letting me know that I am nothing but a sex object to you. You sugar coat it with two words that are supposed to flatter me but your entire speech is filled with lust.
You only affect me for ten seconds. Six seconds for how long it takes you to say your defamatory speech and four seconds to the state of Queenhood. I walk on and tell myself that you are not worth it. I make a mental note to drill respect for womxn into the spirit of my sons. No son of mine will think he is a respectable brotha but still talk about 'smashing' girls or have the mentality that treating a womxn like a queen is 'weak'.
I walk down the street with my crown of grace, dressed in elegance with the spirit of a lion. I am a Queen and I don't need a man to tell me so or make me feel like one. This is I.