Everyone assumed you wanted this,

But no one ever asked.

And here you are, my boy, my child,

The survivor. The very last.

You weren't meant to be the victor,

You were not the golden son.

But here you stand, sweet sorrow,

And finally, you have won.

Oh, you are not your father.

You were not born to rule.

You do not want to become what he did;

A ruler so terrible and cruel.

This empire is yours now,

Do you hear the common people sing?

You are the king, the conqueror,

Selim, Selim, Selim.

Does he seem so very small now?

He who was the state.

The emperor of your life, your father,

The diviner of your fate.

Father, you whisper, don't leave me.

I wasn't born to hold the sky.

I am too weak, too feeble,

But for your sake, I will try.

You live not for yourself now,

But for your wife. Your daughters. Your son. 

Unlike you he'll have no brothers,

You don't want him to kill like you have done.

So no, you were not born for this.

For you had an older brother,

You were born instead for summer days,

For your fiery, loving mother.

You were born for kindness,

For loss, oh, you were born for love.

For wine and gold and plenty, 

For the burning sun above.

Discard the boy now, my son,

The one who dreamed of peace.

You are a warrior now, boy.

The child must be released.

She crosses the room to your side,

Rests her head in the crook of your arm.

Padishah, she addresses you,

Sultan of my heart.

For her, you remind yourself slowly,

I carry the sky above her head.

I fought my family for power,

But I am left only love instead.

The sun rises in the distance,

A sun that your father will never see.

Your brothers are dead and gone now.

She whispers, it's only you and me.

The wailing of the widows grows louder,

A single tear streaks down your cheek.

You rub it away swiftly;

A Sultan can never be weak.

My grandad never knew he was dying of cancer, because nobody had the heart to tell him. He knew he was sick, and that was all. In the end, they took watches in the night, my aunt and grandmother, staying with him. His daughter went up to fetch his wife after a three hour watch, but by the time she came down, he was already gone. He died alone, in a house full of his family.

because, of course she is.

the devil is a woman, with cutting eyes

soft hands and

hollow bones. she gouged out her own wings

because she knew

she didn't need them to fly.

she's not the lady in red, no

instead she's the woman in black

the perpetual mourner for all things she

could have been

if she had been Made male

she knows she'd have been her Daddy's

favourite.

despite this, she is still great

oh, hell hath a woman scorned, yes,

hell bent down on scuffed knees

kissed her bloodied feet

hell worshipped at her altar

gave screeching sacrifices

little blonde girls with bright blue eyes.

satan was never the hulking monster

the roar in the far off else-

no, no, satan was your next door neighbour

with lily-flowers and white knuckles

and the sense of wrongness that meant

you never asked her to babysit.

caricatures, she scoffs, smoking without

a menthol filter

she likes to feel the burn of death

a pale shadow on the wall

a ghost

a fairy story

she thinks they changed it all in the Book

to help themselves sleep at night

the snake, she remembers, had been as

trusting as adam and eve.

she had been so beautiful - she was so beautiful -

and there was no Wrong in eden.

at least, not yet.

trickster, the serpent had wailed when she

left him, legless and armless and hopeless,

i loved you.

lucifer, the morning star, the brightest

of the angels, wears no ruby lipstick.

she stays away from smoky bars

from motorcycles and leather.

she wears cotton, only cotton, because even if the

World is new and she is Old, she still

obeys the Rules 

even if no one else does.

the devil doesn't lie. that's the damndest

thing about the whole sorry mess

the devil doesn't need to lie. she can just

gesture, show off the whole wide world

like a bouquet of rotten flowers

and display the futility of life.

this is the real truth, here and now:

the devil is a woman.

one night she hurtled down from the stars

and has nursed a grudge ever since

the devil is a woman, yes,

and far closer, far more terrible

than you think.

Lions guard my home.

Fierce leaders of the pack.

Other people's doors are plain and dull,

But mine bites right back.

The walls are painted buttercream,

Not even the finish is smooth.

It will prick at your fingertips and make an ache

That only doc leaves can soothe.

We light a fire in wintertime

Choke Santa with the black fumes

It should be a battle for anyone

Wanting to sneak inside our bedrooms.

The tooth fairy had to pry baby teeth

Out of my clenched fists.

If magic was real it had to prove to me

That it deserved to exist.

My red door would slam in your face

More often than it would open a crack,

But once you were in (oh, once you were in)

You'd never want to go back.

what was she but a prayer? what was she, if not a song?

her tiny cries rise and fall in crescendo,

her heart hums low and light, it thrums like a gong.

what was she, but a sermon? an opportunity for all that could be set right?

she was a blank canvas, a setting sail,

she was full of possibilities, each and every one burning bright.

what was she, but a hope? what was she if not a far flung dream?

the kind that sends most men to madness,

the kind that could never be fully understood nor seen.

and oh, what was she, if not a love story? what was she if not a chance?

what was she but a one in a billion, one in a million, one of the very, very last?

she was all of these and none at all. she was so very huge and so very small. she was tiny toes and pink cheeks, she was a ringing bell and a sleepless week. she was sunlight and she was rain. she was my greatest joy, she was my worst pain.

she had so many futures, so many almosts, so many could-have-beens.

so many possibilities. so many dreams. yet the end always comes,

fast, too fast to see,

and here we stand, the girl I was,

and all the things I should have been.