White
Ivana Whitfield
It was so cold, Sitting on the table in that papery robe. White walls; white paper underneath me, White lady with white paper writing down everything, I say She examined me. Her diagnosis was simple: 2 words, 5 syllables, 1 phrase that would leave me crippled. Tears falling, but I manned up. They took my blood and I stood up. Gathered my thoughts as my clothes replaced them on my body, preparing to give my parents the shock of their lives. I walked out. My father hung his head and walked away from me. My mom fell on her knees praying to God my soul to keep. Their looks of disappointment made me breakdown in that backseat. Their little girl, defiled, besmirched, but that was me. My mind flashed back to that night In his all black Dodge Caliber. On that dead-end street, And us all over his suede interior. He was my best friend who, that night, become my lover, My love that was always my best friend. But my lover failed me So I guess he was just my best friend. But he loved me when I figured the world would leave me cold. Got tested, lucky for him nothing showed. So who gave it to me? Don’t think I’ll ever know; I trusted the wrong guy but the world just gonna see a hoe! Somewhere down the line though, I found the truth about my situation. The worst day of my life, was truly a day of liberation. Freed from an entirely sexualized nation, I asked the good Lord for my salvation. You see, I’m not the identity of an STD demonstration. I am still, in God’s eyes, His greatest creation.
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