When one thinks of an African queen, it’s a recollection of Nefertiti. The characteristics of a bold, beautiful and graceful woman tip-toe in thought. She is a symbol for every black woman that she is a statuesque soul, no man’s power capable to deteriorate. I am an African queen by history, but history has yet to define the person in present time. I am merely that statuesque soul man has managed to crumble. A young woman I would like to believe, but my heart aches for the naive girl my past has consistently reminded me I once used to be. Man has crumbled me in spirit and I have yet to gather those pieces stolen from each person that has taken advantage of my age, from every person that has treated my curves maliciously. I have yet to gather the pieces of my soul taken with each thought of loneliness, desperation, aggression and emptiness that has lingered their way into my mind and escaped, each with a piece of my soul. So this African queen is only a statuesque soul by history.