My ex was a wonderful, gorgeous, innocent, yet foolish woman. She could have been one of thee greatest queens of our time. Yet instead of applying herself and being the best her she could be, she's probably in some random dudes bed laying on her back trying to figure out life. Isn't that a sad story? Once upon a time I had hoped to see her face on the cover of vogue magazine or cover girl, representing the truest beauty of ebony women. Now I fear seeing her laid face down in a porno. And I cringe at the thought that I loved that. I turn at the idea that, that this is who I slept with and had hoped to spend my life with.
She uttered the words of a Queen. My Queen. Her voice sounded like that of my equal. Yet, the potential power and prowess that she possessed was dampened by her continuous misuse of her flesh. She was her own piece of meat. Fucking because she knew no better. She rather suck a dick because she has a bruised ego from sucking at math as a child. Never daring to apply herself. Never once stepping outside of her box to see what lies outside of the world because of internal rejections, stemming from dad issues, to middle child syndrome, to sheltering. Yet still through it all she was almost there. Through it all she almost embodied what an actual queen was. But she was not. The strength needed to be a queen was vacant. Though she had come further from being her former self she still maintained that same mentality. Perhaps her southern demeanor and upbringing, gave her the aura of past values that she herself didn't truly possess. We all have are own demons and are who we are, but are you proud of what you have become? More importantly, are you proud of the efforts that you place, into the person you are trying to become? Are you even trying to be better?
And as I look through old messages to help me write a novel or stare at an old picture on my iPad or deal with the resurfacing of her profile image in my face, all I can think of is how unfortunate. What a loss to a kingdom. What a loss to beauty. What a loss to potential elegance. As we found each other in our own personal voids we became something greater than us. But what we became required a King and Queen. I wonder if she'll ever become that person. I wonder if someday she'll ever pick up that book, to a subject that she doesn't know, and will say I want to know this. Who can resurrect my Queen and free me of my pity? Or was she ever really alive at all. Mourn my Queen.
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