Here I am again. Remindering. Telling myself to remember the crown I wear. The crown I am. The crown I represent. The life I live is not mine. Not mine alone.
A few years back, I decided to live out the royalty I claim to have. It has presented itself in ways that look no way royal to those with the wrong eyes. But I see.
I see the gifts and blessing flowing toward me. I still have to work on walking above my station, by service in any time and space. Even if I were living at the top of the highest echelon of life’s hierarchy, I can joyfully serve. It starts with service.
The responsibility of royalty is a crown of service.
I went searching for my sex
As if it weren’t always with me
First in tight clothes
I saw it in a boy’s eyes
Heard it in taunts
laced with adolescent wishes
I went searching for it
Then I thought
despite the clandestine guilt
one can only find in church
If God created the orgasm
what was wrong with praising Him?
So I pondered that while I looked
I couldn’t find my sex anywhere
At that point, I couldn’t even say it
And years passed
And choices were made
until I turned around
And walked back into
where I’d always been whole
And now, as I stand with my sex
My strong and strange sex
I am thankful for the search
Needless as it was
For the story it gave me