Poem: "Clinic"

This is another piece that I wrot for my blog Writing Unafraid.

I don't write to be censored or to tame the fire of a story...I write as honestly as possible...so the people in my writing are manifested as real beings...so that their lives are real, their experiences are real, and that thier hearts are real. I hope the people that read my blog do the same.

Love,
Gem

Clinic

She walked in with her mama at her side
holding her hand.
She was but a child.

A baby not yet ready to have one of her own,
but I knew she wanted to.
I could tell from her puffy red eyes
and the tight grip that her
mother had on her arm.

She wasn't as calm as the girl
across the room
reading Vogue magazine
with her eyes low
and her legs crossed.

It was her mama that didn't want this.
Her daughter was just a child forced to lay her back
down on a dirty mattress
with her eyes closed
and her legs spread.

She blamed herself that her daughter
was left with an absentee father
and with a mother who ignored
her countless cries for help.
She holds her daughter tightly
in fear that she might fall into the reality
that she failed at being her protector.

But what she fails to realize
is that her daughter doesn't care about her guilt,
just about how to get out of this
inner city clinic on the south side of Chicago.

White lady at the desk don't care
about no mommy problems
just about the problem in her belly.
Her hand out impatiently waiting for the credit
card that had no credit
and a smile that had no understanding.

She's just a child,
wanting to be the mother
her mother never was to her,
wanting to have at least one person
in this world who loves her.

Who loves her dark kinky hair,
brown skin,
wide nose,
and brown eyes.

I wanted to reach out to her,
to hold her, to protect her.
I wanted to tell her that
she was beautiful, that her smile was radiant,
that everything would be okay.

But I just sat there,
next to the girl reading Vogue magainze,
holding my own mother's hand.

I was but a child.