You Are A King

I was meeting with my client, my sister-friend on business today. We have a spot we meet at, try not to let too much time pass away. We build, we grind, we strategize, sort through the hateful violence. We talk about the pain we feel and never sit in silence. We complain about the place we eat not being very clean, “how you gonna use the gloves to touch the food and the register”, know what I mean. 
We talk motherhood . . . “who you dating?“  would of, could of, and also should, . . . We talk about the men in our lives, the ones that are great and not so good. 
Sadly we talk about death each time. You see my client sister-friend is in a club that I never wish to enter. Worst than the Klan or any hate group but she really keeps me centered. 
She gives me a deep perspective, to chill and to forgive. Her son, her baby boy was one of those in Charlotte who were killed. He had so much more things to do and it’s now useless to ask why. My client sister friend has a life sentence of pain and this is no lie. 
So as we had our time, my friend stopped the conversation. She abruptly approached a young Black man and his girl without any fear or trepidation. His pants were sagging, his girl was curt, some may even say she was rude, but when my client sister friend opened up her mouth I knew both of them were about to get schooled. 
“Do you know who I am?” 
“Do you know who you are?” 
“I’m telling you you’re a King.”
“You should wear a suit, put on a tie, 
I see people saying your name.” 
She spoke royalty over this young kid, 
As me and his girl sat in silence, 
She said “you know my son, he was killed and I don’t want you to succumb to this violence”. 

I was in awe, I couldn’t believe she had so much power. The kid had a wad of money, yet there for an interview within the hour. 
“I know you smoke.”
“But I ain’t mad.”
“My son he did the same.”

“I need you to stop. They lace this shit and I need to know your name.”

The kid he grinned. Promised to connect. Looked like he really felt her. 
It was amazing the gift my client sister friend had and he had never even met her. 
We all departed but I certainly knew that my friend’s son still lived through his mother. His name was Kyyri, a King for only a season but there will never be another.