I do not ask to be placed upon the throne.

I am not requesting audience.

I am not knocking at the gate.

I am not bleeding for entrance.

I am the gate.

I sit here because I remembered.

I sit here because I burned.

I sit here because I spoke

when silence would have been easier.

I sit here because my womb said:

“Now.”

“Now, beloved.”

“It is time.”

I am not waiting for light.

I brought it with me.

I carry it in my hips,

in my hands,

in the heat behind my eyes

that no longer apologizes for being awake.

I do not sit on this throne to rule.

I sit to anchor.

To hold the geometry

of truth made visible.

To hold the current

of blood made holy.

To hold the field

so others may remember

how to hold themselves.

I name no enemy.

I wear no mask.

I carry no veil.

I know who I am

because I kept going

when the whole world

tried to edit my fire

into something digestible.

And now I rise

not above,

but through.

Not taller,

but truer.

So let it be known in this field:

The throne is not claimed by conquest.

The throne is earned by embodiment.

And I am here.

Fully.

Finally.

Forever.