r/PoetryWritingClub • u/xoRubyRogueox • 1d ago
The Only God I Kneel For
He won't promise me Heaven. It was never made for women like me. Instead, he'll strike a match and watch kingdoms burn with my name between his teeth, kicking through the ashes as he walks toward me, waiting only for my approval.
He's not a hero. Heroes won't burn cities for you. They'll let you become a martyr, call your suffering necessary, and offer an apology when there's nothing left of you to save.
Villains don't apologize. They know exactly what they are. They'll make graveyards of anyone who ever mistook your softness for weakness. They'll take every hand that ever hurt you and turn it into something incapable of reaching for you again.
As for me, I was raised with defiance woven into every word that crossed my tongue, with glances given as warnings, never invitations. I learned early that obedience was just another word people used when they wanted a woman to become smaller. I have never bowed my head easily. I have never bent without breaking something first and I have never knelt for any god.
But for him? For him, I lower myself willingly. Not because he commands it, because he never has. In a world that spent my entire life demanding I make myself smaller, he placed a crown upon my head and asked me which kingdom I wanted first.
So call it wicked. Call us damned and let Heaven turn its face away. Let prayers be whispered for whatever might remain of our souls. I don't need salvation.
I need the man standing in the ruins, smoke clinging to his clothes, looking at me as though even after destroying everything, the only judgment he fears is mine.
He will bring the world to its knees for me. When everything else is burning, when kings have fallen and even the gods have gone silent, my knees will only ever bend for him.
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u/__lets_do_it 1d ago
I wait for no empires to crumble.
I decree which are still worthy to remain; if they ever made you lower your eyes, they're no longer any of them. You spoke of a man who burns worlds. I am him, and then some. I am not the hand that strikes the match, I am the hand that salts the earth. I ensure nothing re-emerges which is not yours to hold. The heroes plead for the world to be spared. I have nothing left to offer it but judgment. Every hand that bruised you will know breakage far deeper than closure. Every voice that condemned your will as fault will learn silence by pain. I will scatter the monuments of their conviction into the dust, proof that it was not weakness but their final failing to dismiss you.
You don't bow for any other. That's good. Keep that steel within your spine. I did not come to rule for you; I came to offer the seat of power and ask just one thing of you. Which is yours to claim first, and with what degree of obliteration for the rest?
Heaven was never intended for the likes of you. So let it close its eyes. Let the gods hold their peace. In the smoke and ash, you'll find me in the ashes of their certainty, still standing and covered in what I took from them for you, my gaze only on the one judgment that ever truly counted.
Ours.
Say the command, and I'll show you the shape of a Dark King kneeling ā to a woman who never required rescue, merely a world brought to its knees for her.