they say tyrian purple is the noblest burial shroud
but I am not noble, nor is anything I have done
so cover me in cornflower blue and fuchsia
after casting me into the flame –
do not sanitize me by simply
calling me a queen
or a conquering hero, save your pedestals
for a less complicated man with fewer ways
to him, bestow your blossoms upon a son
more fortunate than I
instead of rendering my life a clean, monolithic stroke of heather gray, give me what I’ve always
wanted – know me for all my flaws
for all my ugly sides that never caught the
light quite well enough to photograph
know who I was beyond what I offered you
what I made, know me when I bent,
when I broke at half-right angles,
know the loves that haunted endless 2 AMs
know what made me explode, twisted glass pane
was I, on days when I woke up and wrote about the juicy plum afterlife that was always
close enough to almost taste, know what blessings I ate, not just the sins, know the kings
I broke, not just the kings I made
and know that I bled crimson into the dirt
and into the lake in the process of building
my own once and future lavender throne
not blue – no amount of my father’s blessèd
lunatic foresight and stubbornness could make me
anything more or less than human
anything more or less than flawed
anything more or less than myself
no matter what I did
no matter who I would move into position
-Allēna 7/19/2026