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Queen, It's Automatic
- Crimson Steed
- 3 days ago
- 2 min read
Queens don't ask permission to exist boldly.
They don't fold themselves into smaller languages
to soothe fragile kingdoms.
She is the storm beneath it.
She is inheritance, blood memory, and dynasty woven into flesh.
Before empires carved the world apart,
before history swallowed women whole
and renamed their power "fairytale,"
there were queens whose footsteps
sounded like a prophecy.
Queens who spoke and nations trembled.
Queens who held war in one hand
and creation in the other.
Do not mistake softness
for surrender.
The ocean is soft too,
yet it reshapes continents
without asking anyone
if it may.
A queen understands this.
She knows power does not always
announce itself with violence.
Sometimes it arrives as silence,
so commanding the room
rearranges itself around her.
Sometimes it looks like saying no
when the world demands obedience.
Queens have always existed.
In the deserts of Kush.
In the palaces of Angola.
In villages where grandmothers ruled
through wisdom instead of fear.
In sacred temples.
In resistance movements.
In the marrow of every woman
forced to become unbreakable.
History tried to reduce them to
side notes beside men.
But kingdoms remember who truly kept
the fire burning.
A queen does not beg to be seen.
The sun does not beg either.
It rises, knowing the world will turn toward
its light eventually.
Crimson Steed is a reflective writer and contributor exploring faith, transition, womanhood, and the sacred rhythms of growth. Her work centers on spiritual insight, emotional honesty, and the quiet wisdom found in seasons of waiting and becoming. Her reflections invite readers to release shame, honor the process, and trust divine timing.
Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, or LinkedIn.
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/theobsidian.quill
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Hermotions
Poetry in motion. 🥹 Reads like a beautiful song and dance.
This is so inspiring!