King.

A woman is a King.

Putting this statement to the test instigates some doubt, especially noting the events that have unfolded this past week. After all, a man just became king. Yet, an inherent, noble persuasion directs me to highlight the former scenario; I believe women are kings. We are queens, empresses, baronesses, ladies, and princesses too. We’ve had to be kings. In moments when we’ve been alone and have had to take on the world, we don armor and relegate our fears to altered spaces, and often just so we could breathe, yes, live. We’ve had to stand tall, buck up, brace for, stand guard, and soar. A woman does what a woman needs to do.

She can’t brandish her heart on a sleeve nor a sword, for the sleeve offers no warmth, and the sword eviscerates to shreds that which she has cherished and makes her whole. Our reality ushers in hardships that meet us with no mercy nor rest for the weary, but what guides us is love. Love for humanity. Love for the souls.

We nurture, we protect, and we provide for others. We neglect, we forsake, and we sacrifice ourselves. We wait on the world for validation, which often comes late or not at all.

I’ve heard it a dozen times, and yes, even a thousand, “I am worthy.” I’ve said it a million more. I believe it. Indeed, I do, but do I stand on it; a proclaimed hill, ceremoniously, while my child weeps? Do I wait for the world to decide my fate, or spare me a seat at the table? Or do I grab it where it hurts with my left hand and hold firmly onto that scepter with my right? Do I cave or stay away?

No, I chart a path and pave the way. I was, I am, I will be.

“King.”