Her powerful and provocative artistry fails to capture the hearts of those who don't quite understand her message. Often overlooked in the art world, Beyoncé has struggled for years to gain the respect of her peers. That all changes when she meets A...
(a/n: chapter 12 and 13 will take place concurrently, each from different perspectives)
Beyoncé
Therapy was teaching me how to cope.
Yoga taught me how to breathe.
But within the mirrored walls of a pole dancing studio, I was learning how to embrace my inner strength.
How to own it.
How to wield it.
Most importantly, learn how to have fun with it.
Starting as a quest for confidence and a break from monotony, my first pole class began with nerves. Despite the encouraging instructor and friendly classmates, I felt exposed and judged. Yet, as the music started, my perspective shifted. The pole, once a cold, alien object, transformed into an anchor for my newfound grace.
In every spin and climb, I danced past my demons, no longer their captive. My scars, once defining, faded as my body twined around the metal, fluid like a breeze through live oaks. This dance was my silent soliloquy, painting my story with the strength and surrender of my movements.
Here, in the dance, I found pure bliss and escape, a release from the aches etched into my bones. The world fell away until only I remained.
But there was always an end to the music—a final breath to an exhilarating song. As the melody faded, so did the spell, with the truth of my reality creeping in. Each class ended the same way, with the bittersweet taste of liberation on my tongue as I grabbed my water bottle, duffle bag, and keys, leaving it all behind.
But one day, I chose to bring the dance home.
On a whim, I purchased a pole, and with it, the knowledge that a new chapter of self-discovery had begun. I set up the space for my new toy and tried again, but this time it was different.
Surrounded not by acquaintances but by friends, I danced freely, each spin and climb cleansing my spirit. Robyn and Kelly cheered me on, their laughter and applause—and Robyn's dollar bills—fueling my courage. With their support, I shed an ample amount of my insecurities, my heart and soul soaring in a way they hadn't since my gymnast days.
The studio's air was crisp and scented with lemon from the recent cleaning. My bare feet left the slightest prints across the wood floor as I walked to the pole. Before placing my water bottle on the nearby chair, I took a long sip, letting the cool liquid soothe my dry throat, and then turned to face the pole. My fingers wrapped around the metal, feeling the comforting chill.
