To Be Queen of Your Thoughts

I’m sorry for the pedestals I placed you all on,

with the utmost unrealistic hope

But I just couldn’t help admiring you, and I made you look like a trophy;

Now, who else would have thought of raising you up

As triumphantly as I did?

Lately your trophy has gone askew

And the statue doesn’t even look like you

It resembles the crumbled face of someone

Whom lost himself to a battle.

So I placed you on the shelf, and you still held importance

I forced your mangled figure onto that shelf

Because you still lingered in my mind.

 I covered you up with books about how I really didn’t care

Books I wrote, forced into a state of emotionlessness—now that’s something we share.

Then one day the light hit my forgotten golden trophy,

So I knocked down the books, I noticed you—the pedestal was gone.

I sighed with relief but it still wasn’t over

I took you outside and I buried you in the deepest hole in the Earth.

The next year came, and I didn’t feel the same, 

My hope was finally set free.

Still, I longed to avenge you, if only to be Queen of your thoughts.

Then I turned to my window and on the ledge I saw

A boy was staring at me.

I felt something rise up from beneath my feet;

My hands and body coated in gold.

It was then I realized what was happening:

The statue on the pedestal…

is now me.

--Natalie Klett