It’s time for another chat. I see you released a new album, “Lemonade” that everyone can see is a thinly veiled pick-me-dance-set-to-music for your cheating husband Jay Z.
For your own good, because I hate to see a Mega Super Star chumped, I’m putting your recent song lyrics through the Universal Bullshit Translator.
“You can taste the dishonesty/It’s all over your breath”
Spit it out! Don’t swallow! Why are you tolerating this shit?
“So what are you going to say at my funeral now that you’ve killed me? Here lies the body of the love of my life whose heart I broke without a gun to my head. Here lies the mother of my children both living and dead. Rest in peace, my true love, who I took for granted.”
Translation: Yo, Jay Z. Apparently subtly failed, so please accept this entire album, video montage, and choreographed spectacle as a token of my grief. As an added bonus, I shall jump off a building.
Do I have your attention yet?
“Looking at my watch, he shoulda been home. Today I regret the night I put that ring on. He always got them f–king excuses.”
Change the locks, Beyonce.
“He only want me when I’m not there. He better call Becky with the good hair.”
That’s the spirit!
Who is Becky you ask? Nobody knows for certain. However, fans immediately began to speculate that it could be about designer Rachel Roy when she posted (and deleted) on Instagram: “Good hair don’t care, but we will take good lighting, for selfies, or self truths, always. Live in the light #nodramaqueens.”
Hey Becky, fuck off. #youandyourdrama2
“Middle fingers up, put them hands high. Wave it in his face, tell him, boy, bye. Tell him, boy, bye, middle fingers up. I ain’t thinking ‘bout you.”
The UBT likes this call to
arms fingers, Beyonce. But you need to follow through on that “bye” thing.
And judging by your recent creative output, you are thinking about him. You know what he’s thinking about? Becky with the good hair, and Suzy with the tight ass, and Belinda with the big tits, and…
“You remind me of my father, a magician… able to exist in two places at once. In the tradition of men in my blood, you come home at 3 a.m. and lie to me. What are you hiding? The past and the future merge to meet us here. What luck. What a f–king curse.”
Even superstars have FOO issues.
Nothing breaks the curse like a divorce summons. Don’t model this shit to the next generation. Would you tell your daughter to stay?
“I tried to change, closed my mouth more, tried to be softer, prettier, less awake. Fasted for 60 days, wore white, abstained from mirrors, abstained from sex, slowly did not speak another word… I grew thickened skin on my feet I bathed in bleach and plugged my menses with pages from the holy book, but still inside me, coiled deep, was the need to know…are you cheating on me?”
Yes he is.
And bleach bathes and silence won’t make him stop. You don’t control that. You just control YOU. So middle fingers up, Beyonce. Call a lawyer.
“My grandma said nothing real can be threatened. True love brought salvation back into me. With every tear came redemption. And my torture became my remedy.”
Unicorns aren’t real and neither are Jay Z’s promises of fidelity. People who love you don’t torture you and make you compete for their love.
Salvation is loving yourself enough to walk away.
“I know I promised that I couldn’t stay, baby/Every promise don’t work out that way.”
“Give you some time to prove I can trust you again.”
That’s going to be a long wait, Beyonce. I hope your next album is “Fuck Lemons.”
Image copyright Beyonce.