Like a museum of modern — life,
full of pieces curated for a billion eyes,
she is composed of stretched skin, shards of bone,
a heart made of glass
and a mind sometimes called a bad neighbourhood — or home.
With traces of blood and Earth under her fingernails,
she is under the spotlight of those billion eyes —
projecting narratives whilst taking comfort
in her revolution never being televised nor fully realised.
She’s not just a pretty young thing —
for you to adore and wear like crushed velvet against your skin.
She is the seasoned daughter of Eve,
Nefertiti — and the women born to be warrior Queens.
On bended knees — she is a religion,
not just barefoot and pregnant chained to her cave,
she is the one perpetually misunderstood —
breaking free to reclaim her womanhood.
She’s a classic,
the choir sings when you breathe her name,
if you’re one of ninety nine problems —
stop staring, get out of her way.