she emerged in high school

born of blonde cornrows,

and mini shorts,

a boy’s comment you look like Beyonce

my half smile and a giggle at the comparison.

an imaginary concert in my room

singing “Bills, Bills, Bills” to made-up men.


she was born of body rolls and hip jerks

a persona furthered by more blonde hair

but this time the braids were skinnier

long and loose at the ends, and men in Atlanta

yelled  Hey!  Beyonce can I get your number?!


she was born because I wanted to sing

ever since I was three years old and saw

Michael Jackson sliding across a dance floor

and thought he was a girl.

and Beyonce, well she was my generation’s singer

so I sang her songs


she continued through college

I was dangerously in love with a short football player

who had a girlfriend.

got more blonde braids, but this time tinged with orange

met a volatile man from the bronx

hummed soldier as he roamed the streets.


she weaves in and out of my life now

no blonde hair to entice her presence.

but when I’m alone in my living room

or my car,

when i feel a man trying to do me wrong,

a microphone appears

and she’s there.

-nijla  ©2009