She strutted down Malcolm X Boulevard, a queen of some undeclared kingdom

Street guys would look at her quizzically as if to ask, “Who do you think you are?”

She looked at them with an expression that said, “I’m beautiful”

Society never idealized her sensuality like Marilyn Monroe, 

would never consider her the perfection of art like the Mona Lisa, 

nor would it ever romanticize her chastity like the Madonna

Yet she laid her claims to beauty

 

She had a neighborhood lover, who swore his heart to her

Then he made music, rapping how much he screwed her

After he donated his sperm, she had regrets and could only say,

“See, you hate me too”

But she held her head proud, 

expressing from some deeply reserved strength that, she is beautiful

 

As she turned the corner on Marcus Garvey Drive, 

she drew more curious eyes, admiration mixed with despise

“Who does she think she is?” somewhere in the muffled sounds behind her

“I’m beautiful” the echo from her body responded in the passing breeze

“I am the Queen of Sheba and the Queen of the Nile, 

I gave mankind its first child, 

I am the village priestess, 

I am Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Betty Shabbazz and Coretta Scott King, 

I am the mother and father of three”

“I am black and comely”

“I am beautiful”