“Lemonade was a Popular Drink. And it still is.”

Beyoncé used her gift and got that shit off of her chest, out of her heart and head. So body and soul would stop fucking aching. Point blank. The presentation of Lemonade commanded your attention. An otherworldly draw you don’t recognize until somewhere in the middle. Hooked in by the understanding of betrayal. You know what brought you to pay attention, what kept you watching… you can not place it. Eventually it was summed up as a “ love letter to the black girls.”

You know what grinds my gears? This sense of ownership and because it’s mine it can’t be yours. I know the feeling of exclusion. I get it. I also know the feeling of elation when I finally get to embrace what’s been created specifically for me. Unapologetically. There was an immediate sense of solidarity while watching Lemonade. If it happened to Beyoncé, then muthafucking right it does happen to all of us women. No one is immune to the gauntlet of emotions you endure when betrayed by a loved one. She shared her story in our tradition. Making no excuses about its delivery. Just like authors from other cultures tell their stories in their tradition and make no excuses about. No explaination is needed. No need to scream “ This ours! For us.”

As a writer, this person who sometimes fights with the feelings disguised as words scurrying around in her head trying to find a way out, to process my anger, hurt, embarrassment, shock, etc. I use my gift to get it out. Writing. Taking all of those ideas, thoughts, and feelings and weaving them into a tangible piece of understanding. Then throw it out into the world. “ HERE! Take it. I don’t want it anymore.” If no one ever sees it, fine. I don’t care, the prize is in the release. However, if just one person lays eyes on it and nods their head in agreement. Or, finds solace and strength in my words. I am sated. And on a certain level it was worth the pain.

For me, constantly saying that Lemonade is a “love letter to black woman” takes away from larger picture. Reinforcing the separationist and racists ideas that we constantly battle. Yes. This was a celebration of our heritage. She is the only celebrity who has put thought into what she’s presenting to the world about us. As creator I respect that. As a black woman I applaud that. Our story is so easily dismissed. She used her talent and status and smashed that boundary. Will we follow suit? Or will we just stand by in awe of the “love letter”?

I admit that my perspective is a mix of creator, historian and woman. There are so many levels to this piece. The richness of depth in the stories to absorb. From choice of poetic verse in conjunction to sing lyrics. To the costume design to the poses to the head wraps. The “hot sauce” she carries in her bag to the images of “self-her girls-self- him/family”. It is more than a simple love letter to the black girls. She took our stories and traditions and using various mediums weaved together a story about betrayal that resonates with all women no matter what her heritage, race, social standing or whatever is. That’s the beauty of the piece. Lemons to lemonade. Something we all can enjoy.