The Queen of the Breadcrumbs

I wore a crown made outta tin foil,

Thought it shimmered in the sun,

Let men call me “baby” first message coil

Like we’d already become one.

They’d say, “You’re different, you’re special,”

Then disappear for a week,

I’d say, “He’s busy, he’s processing,”

Girl, I was tired, not deep.

I dated grandpas and little boys,

Same story, different jeans,

One showed abs like a résumé,

One showed stocks and gambling dreams.

Naked photos, unsolicited

Sir, this ain’t a museum tour,

If confidence was currency,

Some of y’all would still be poor.

I was the Queen of the breadcrumbs,

Servin’ crumbs like it was pie,

Calling mixed signals “mystery”

And ghosting “timing’s off, that’s why.”

I fed potential, watered maybes,

Built a throne outta “almost us,”

But I’m done eatin’ hope for dinner

Honey, I’m hungry for trust.

I could write a novel on your trauma,

Footnotes, context, whole damn plot,

Explain away bad behavior

Like it was some kind of thought.

I said, “He’s wounded, not careless,”

While he stood me up for coffee,

Turns out empathy ain’t sexy

When it’s just enabling sloppy.

I ain’t bitter, I ain’t broken,

I just finally did the math,

If I give you warmth and effort

Why am I acceptin’ scraps?

I was the Queen of the breadcrumbs,

Passing grace like free refills,

Letting charm outrun consistency

‘Cause it felt nicer than the bills.

But if you can’t meet me sober,

Clear, consistent, and kind,

You can keep your little crumbs, boy

I’ve got standards and a spine.

So I set that crown down gently,

Didn’t throw it, didn’t cry,

Thanked the girl who tried to save ‘em all

And finally, let her lie.

I still love with open hands,

Still laugh too loud, still feel too much,

I just don’t audition for affection

Or mistake crumbs for lunch.

I ain’t the Queen of the breadcrumbs now,

I wait for bread, I wait for wine,

For someone who don’t rush the pet names

And knows effort ain’t a crime.

If what you give reflects my giving,

Pull up a chair, let’s talk,

But if it’s crumbs you’re bringin’, darling

You can keep ‘em. I’ll walk.

No crown, no throne, no wounded kings,

No savin’ men who won’t grow up…

Turns out self-respect tastes better