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23, living free.
She thought her age should come with a prize,
A reward for the years, the lows, and the highs.
A little reminder that whispered, "You've got this,"
A monument to pressure that somehow became progress.
But when Lewanika is your last name,
You're born into blood, into fortune, into flame.
Automatically thrown into treacherous games,
Where power wears crowns and death wears names.
An heir to a throne built on lies and deceit,
A dangerous legacy, a treacherous seat.
A sinful inheritance dressed up as a feat-
A crown that looks golden, but burns when you meet.
Lords and Ladies, with titles bestowed,
Can they not see the blood beneath the road?
Can they not hear what the silence has said?
Can they not count all the names left for dead?
She never asked for the crown or the sin,
Never chose the war she was dragged within.
She was told to fight a battle she never put herself in-
A battle she never wanted,
A battle she didn't even want to win.