Nefertiti Was Never a Friend of Mine

Nefertiti Was Never a Friend of Mine Nefertiti was never a friend of mine. She was a sister, born of urbanity while natural grace belongs to me. Her beauty was firestarter, while my form is a soft whisper, the essence of womanhood, she upholds, but my feet are like oil wells, pumping liquid gold. I am poignant, enigmatic, making my bed on the fertile crescent, persevering in all things benign, drawing in peace with only a soft-spoken sigh. My hands have toiled tirelessly ‘til they were scarred and searing, and sweet oils have anointed my forehead, no more dismay or futile disconcert ahead; I've turned bitter water into honey just by being a real woman, phenomenally, every hope, every promise, every dream, I've become, indeed. All this I did with earnest, solemn tears... but so did Nefertiti ten thousand years ago. Paths I've painted in pure black and white, a breakthrough of seas of light; I've won a million Nobel prizes, been tagged, "most cognizant" or "wisest", yet, I know I still have to bow my eyes to forerunners who were sublime.