It’s supposed to be my term,
but it is her portrait that hangs prominently on the office wall.
She remains a featured presence on relevant social media sites,
yet I am nowhere to be found.
At every turn, I am reminded
that she may be the favored candidate.
I attempt to take pride in my victory,
but there is no indication that I’ve truly won the vote.
There are secret conversations —
inappropriate to begin with, misleading in nature —
and I am left to worry.
I’m in the dark, not stupid.
Funny, how concern is shown for her feelings…
she is unbothered, seemingly unaware of my existence.
I wince inwardly as I overhear her being fondly remembered
while I am rejected outright.
There is supposed to be a clear and peaceful transition of power –
out with the old and in with the new.
Without recognition or loyalty,
I am doomed to fail.
All I had wanted was to faithfully collaborate and inspire.
Now, it is my job to be dutiful despite the maltreatment,
to smile and be pleasant as I’m disrespected,
to hope for a fair chance,
to keep one ear to the ground,
But I don’t need anyone else to place me in a position of authority.
I was born a queen,
honorable and mighty,
luminous and without an equal.
I already have absolute power –
to welcome or exile, pardon or punish,
protect or execute.
I compete with no one,
and just as each term has a limit,
so do I.