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Hello, king.

Some women don't like being called queen in the street

I like when a stranger acknowledges the royalty in me


A child of the King, I am

Made in the image of the great I Am


He, a brother by way of culture

He, my brother by way of the Son


I, a sister and his sister elevated by this moment in time

By a small gesture of some respected version of hi


Hello, king.


A spiritual encounter gifted in speech

I like when a stranger acknowledges the royalty in me


He said, "Hey queen."


I waved my hand to grasp the words that lingered in the air

Followed by a nod to awaken his existence standing there


I see you, king.


He, posted up outside the corner store

His inner child drowning in liquor

Days go by as he grows numb

Standing outside hoping to get a numb-er


Texts to a woman he barely even knows

He's willing to say anything to get in her clothes

While he's at it, maybe a place to stay

He hasn't had a job since they took him away


Black man, face on the pavement struggling to breathe

It was here that he was arrested for an accusation made false

Profiled and harassed like they always do

Little boy in a man's body disciplined by crooked laws


He was raised by a grandmother that knew God

She disciplined him with the rod

Still somehow he never felt love

What is love to a child that never grew up?


So, is he a king?


And what makes a queen a queen?

Is she defined by her doing?

Character measured in times of darkness


What if she's messy?

Struggling to be queen-like

Yet feeling a pull somewhere in her body

She calls it vibes, the Holy Spirit living inside


She ignores her inner cries and continues to live a lie

Looking for connection in a touch

His heartbeat through his fingertips are enough


Like a high she seeks in her lowest of lows

"Touch me, baby" she tells a man who will never love her fully

Or give her anything beyond his own needs


So, is she a queen?


When he calls her that in the street

She ignores him, a response to her trauma

It's men like you who take advantage

You say queen but you really mean baby mama


She has nothing left to give

He, angered by his invisibility

Do you hear me talking to you?

It's women like you that never take me seriously


When I walk by he tries again

Discouraged but hoping he'll be met without defense


Hello, queen.


Some women don't like being called queen in the street

I like when a stranger acknowledges the royalty in me


A child of the King, I am

Made in the image of the great I Am


He, a brother by way of culture

He, my brother by way of the Son


I, a sister and his sister elevated by this moment in time

By a small gesture of some respected version of hi

It doesn't matter what the world says about who you are

When you know the true King, you won't question whose you are


In you is a love that goes beyond what you can see

No more scattered words that lack meaning

Or actions that make you feel empty


In Him you are made whole

A new life resting in your soul


I thank you, king for speaking to me

A spiritual encounter gifted in speech


That's why I like when a stranger acknowledges the royalty in me


Hello, king.













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