My Damaged Queen

Most times Life serves you a dish she knows you won't like. A dish with one ingredient too many. If you're not lucky ? She'll serve you a burnt dish. That's what I would like to call Mathilda. A burnt...damaged...but yet so tasty dish. I'm still yet to understand this clumsy african queen. To me she can do no wrong. Even if she were to burn down my house, I would still love her.  She's the sister I never had. The enemy I battle with every day. The best friend I run to when I'm down. The partner that cleans up my mess...My girl. She's an angel in disguise. She's caring... loving..sweet and, most of all, beautiful. I've seen her in every state of mind. I've seen her angry. She'd start cursing and get rritated by every litte thing.  I've seen her depressed. She'd  wear an oversized T-shirt, pack her hair in a pony tail and devour strawberry flavoured ice cream. She would laugh for five minutes and cry for the next  twenty minutes. I hate to see her cry. I hate to see those warm drop of tears roll down her pinchable cheeks. I love to hear her laugh. When she does,  it seems as if  I have no worries in the world. That smile could light up my mood  any day and any time. But she cries more than she  laughs. She doesn't have to say a word to me before I know something is wrong. I can tell by just looking into her brown her eyes. She cries herself to sleep most of the time. One can't help but wonder what would make such a beautiful soul cry. I'd just let her cry on my shoulder. Don't ask me why... I can't help but console her.

"Did he hit you again ?"

"Yes...He told me I could never measure up to her"

 I would listen to her rant, get mad and burst in tears. It's not the first time he's hitting her. Nor is he the first to hurt her. The details of her story sparked fury in me. She's the one putting herself  through all this unnecessary stress. I mean, she's too beautiful for all this. There are a thousand and one guys that would want to be a modern day Hercules just because of her. Despite this fact, she still picks the wrong set of guys to be with. "I don't like yoruba guys" is what she would sing to me. The funny thing here is that I'm Yoruba. I would look at her and laugh. Just tease her about it...She would turn around and give me a mean look. Looking down her is just  funny in a cute way because I'm 6'4 tall and she's just 5'9. She would talk and talk and talk...I would just listen and stare at her beautiful self. Her hazel eyes...full lips...long hair...curvy body. And there she was again... crying. I walked up to her and put my arms around her from behind. She turned around and I kissed her.


"Yeah ?"

"Love me...please"

I kissed her neck. She leaned her neck  back and closed her yes. I carried her and layed on her the bed with so care. She smiled. At that point I just wanted to give her the best of me...treat her like the queen that she is. I could feel her heart racing. She holding my bed...Her moans and whispering...Finally, she was mine...I had finally felt the beauty of making love. Not the regular sex stunt these other girls pull. I told her to set her mind at ease. The way she worked her fingers through my back...No scratches, just love...sweet love...

"Dayo, meet my fiancee Jake. Jake, meet Dayo. He's like a brother to me."

- The Alpha Female. 


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