I am not who I used to be
and I think I'm fine with that

this being of blood and thought
and all that makes me
shall wait quietly for those
those who I love
to catch up to my storms of revolution
my scars of obstinate endurance

for all that I am
made anew with strength
honor, nobility?
I'll find them along the way
hold tight
and not be afraid

that one day I may wake up
and find someone else there
like a burr
or a bee sting
sitting in my letter-box
a missive unopened and glaring,
waiting to ruin my gilded insurgence

but no
I own this uprising
I alone grow these flowers
I alone will make them bloom
I alone will decide when to snip the buds
if at all.

I will be wary, but unafraid.
I will be thankful, but no longer cowed.

once I saw a sky
strewn with stars
a floor strewn with roses
and I will see it again

for I have become,
in my own absence,
a Prince.

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