when eating cake you bite
on the plastic king.
they cheer and put
the golden paper
crown into your hair:
photo moment.
how come
on the picture
your blue eyes
turned grey?
what do they see
that lets grey dust
trickle through your body,
dust that is
now firmly stored
in your cells,
as if they never
had been anything
but grey?
what let you
discard the colors,
little queen?
did you feel the artificiality
of the king you had
bitten on and who
determines what
is of value and
what is not?
did you feel
this between your teeth?
how could you learn
to be the queen
of your one and single life
when everything
is performed
in comparison?
dump the paper
crown and give
your body back
to reality. the space
between your shoulder blades
fills with queen.
your eyes
blue again.
you, my queen,
hold all three kings
within yourself.
poem from the book ‘startling twist’