An Open Letter to Beyoncé at the 2017 Grammys: How Fucking DARE YOU?!

“Beyoooooooooooncé!!!!!!” *hysterical sobbing*

Y’all I’m still trying to recover from the WORSHIP Beyoncé took an undeserving Grammys’ audience to Sunday night. She gave us Mortal Kombat finishing move braid realness on the Formation tour. She did a better Phoenix saga than Bryan Singer could ever hope to at the BET Awards. She brought the ultimate shade to the MAGA Music Awards, I mean the COUNTRY Music Awards with a jeweled white ballgown, propped up titties, body jewelry, transcendent vocals, a full-ass country orchestra, and the damn Dixie Chicks! Hell, she kicked off Black History Month by announcing she’s bringing two more carefree Black babies into this world.

Then Sunday. Sunday. Sunday, February 12th in the year of our Lord 2017, in the middle of the 59th annual GRAMMY Awards, Beyoncé SHUT THAT SHIT DOWN! Her pregnant ass, cooking up two whole fucking human beings, stepped up on that stage and told e’rybody else to just go the hell home. It was a wrap. A damn WRAP. Whew! WHEW!

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*sets timer*
*DEEP INHALE*
Beyoncé ouchea looking like the patron saint of the holy trinity of #BlackGirlMagic, #BlackExcellence, & the best of Black Twitter.

Looking like the statue of Mary in the Blackest of AME churches.
Looking like she bout to greet you at the pearly gates.
Looking like she shoulda stepped outta the doors at the end of Dogma and killed Ben Affleck.
Looking like a custom Kehinde Wiley commission.
Looking like going to Popeye’s on a Friday after work when you had to skip lunch for a conference call and when you pull up you find out the $5 Box is back AND they just got some spicy out the fryer AND they slip you an extra biscuit and an extra chicken breast.

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Beyoncé came through with 36 inches of hair she snatched
from all the white girls who did acoustic covers of Lemonade tracks.
Came through with the BEST choreography of the night
like she isn’t incubating the twins to bring balance back to The Force.

Came through with an embroidered version of herself overlooking her baby bump because only the face of Beyoncé can shine glory upon the progeny of Beyoncé.
Came through with so much celestial glory she could power Superman, Supergirl, Superboy, Superwoman, Superdog, Supercat, and the damn Superhorse.

Said, “I’m giving y’all 45 minutes of genius and the rest of The GRAMMYs gon WAIT.”
Said, “I’mma show The GRAMMYs voters the exact moment they had me fucked up.”
Said, “I’m finna make Love Drought your new favorite Lemonade track.”
Said, “I slay so hard all you can do is go to commercial.”
Said, “I’m leaving every hoe in here BALD as a pornstar’s vagina.”

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Snatching up edges and handing out heart attacks like baby shower favors
Giving a performance as glorious as the end of a rolling orgasm
Michelangelo was inspired by THIS performance when he painted The Last Supper.

And best of all from Evelyn from the Internets

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*TIME*

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  • Brittany N. Williams is a writer, actress, unimpressed Shakespearean Blerd, keeper of 90s theme songs, future Lord of the Fire Nation, and & New Orleanian by way of Baltimore, DC, Hong Kong, London, and NYC. Catch her laying waste to all challengers in Soul Calibur or slinging literary fire across the interwebs.

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