BIG TALKER, BETTY CROCKER.

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Here it is Thursday night and the Urban Artist is still just a concept.  I did order some black clothing and I did bleach out my hair tonight but that’s as far as I got.  I am afraid to color my hair.  I am afraid to be stared at.  And I hate myself for that fear.  Would I be so afraid if I wasn’t fat?  Or do I just use my fatness as an excuse?  “If I were thinner I’d _________”.  Well would I?  Maybe I’m just a coward hiding behind a false bravado.  Maybe I’m not really a Queen but a chamber pot maid.   Maybe after all these years of “in your face-ness”, I am realizing it was only a good act?   Maybe I’m not really “me” at all.  Maybe I don’t even exist.

Or maybe I just need a good night’s sleep and tomorrow I’ll wake up full of piss and vinegar and put on my Queen Robyn suit and dye my hair aqua and stare down anyone who stares at me like Queen Latifah would.

Maybe.

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