I Am: A Yorubanglish Voice

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I am a gap-toothed black girl scribbling poetry in the back corner of class. My words flow left-handed across blank pages, saving the curriculum for later. I borrow the rhythm of my grandmother’s tongue and weave fast, fluent Yoruba with crisp English. Hidden messages slip through every proverb and line. Music lives inside me — the marriage of hip-hop and afro beats pulsing beneath a talking drum. Here, a woman is born, learning the infinite connection between her waist and the baseline. I wear sky-high gele with stretch skinny jeans and carry my ancestors in every bead and phrase. I am the stories they never taught in history books. This is who I am.

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