The word was so vile
That it left a stench in your mouth.
Yet you spat it as if it
Tasted like honey,
And even licked the drool
From your lips.

You still don't respect
Or understand that
I am a queen,
That from once fertile loins
Sprang a spirit, a strength,
A power, a passion
That was buised,
But not broken,
Kicked,
But not killed,
And transformed into
The wonderful being
That is I.

Hands of courage,
A heart of joy,
Tears of happiness,
Footsteps of peace,
Eyes of wisdom,
Ears of understanding,
Fingertips of tenderness,
And lips of love.

Yet you spat
That word at me.
Pray you never find yourself in judgment
At the foot of my throne.