Beware the King

You don't want to be one of his queens

For all of you who have ever fallen under the spell of someone who crowned himself King, this song is for you.

Perhaps he called himself a king.

Perhaps he never used a title at all. He simply expected the world to orbit around him.

The crown always sounds impressive at first.

Kings speak of kingdoms.

They speak of loyalty.

They speak of queens.

The language feels elevated. Romantic. Noble.

Until you notice something curious.

The king is always the king.

Everyone else is assigned a role.

A queen, in these kingdoms, is often celebrated with words while being measured by obedience. She is praised for her devotion, admired for her beauty, applauded for her loyalty, and rewarded when she reflects the image the king has created for himself.

That isn't partnership.

That is hierarchy dressed in velvet.

The healthiest relationships I've witnessed have never required a throne.

They've never needed one person above another.

They've been built by two people standing on the same ground, carrying different strengths, making room for each other's voices.

Real love doesn't shrink someone into a supporting character.

It expands both people.

So whenever I hear someone eagerly proclaim themselves a king, I find myself asking a simple question:

If everyone around you is truly royalty...

why is there only one throne?

This song isn't about one individual.

It's about an idea that appears over and over again in relationships, communities, and even creative spaces, even here on substack 🤦

Any title that places one person permanently above another deserves a second look.

A crown is easy to wear.

Equality is much harder.

If you've ever found yourself handed a title while quietly surrendering your voice, I hope this song reminds you of something important:

Your worth was never bestowed by someone else's crown.

You brought your own.

— Bear Sage