My Queen

So prim and Proper, this Prize to be Sought after Princess’s ascension Some power growing, Must be strega Floating around in Diaphanous dresses Small joys to everyone She’s not the courtly boy They’d hoped for But she glides Effortlessly Across this Chessboard of intrigue She’s far less impressionable than steel Though her precarious control is so delicate that But one ill-rumor, error, or mistake And she’s sent to her chambers Quiet as a mouse And I’m sure she’s quite aware That every move, gesture, connotation and Inflection is calculated, ingenuine Though this one queen Ignores this with ease As she is passed, to dance With silent awareness of the Secret agendas of her Fawning partners And I know, quite Surely that I hate Myself for being her.