Sincerely, A Black Girl.

04' Adolescence.

The humid weather and my hair was a no-no, you see.

Neither was the cherry flavored popsicle that began to melt in my hands and get all over me.

Momma was always there, cleaning me up.

While Daddy was cheating with another woman and feeling her up.

I never was taught how to ride a bike with or without training wheels.

Every night that Daddy didn't come home, Momma had no choice but to be in her feels.

I was too young to really know what was going on, I didn't pay it any mind.

The only thing I was concerned about was being in the house before the street lights came home or that was my behind.

Momma ain't raise no hoodrat, and Daddy didn't either when he was there.

I remember sitting on the floor between Momma's legs, while she braided and greased my hair.

The ballies, beads, and barrettes clacked to my tender-headed scalp one-by-one.

Causing me to wince in pain because getting my hair did, sure as hell wasn't no fun.

"Hey Arnold!", "Smart Guy", and "All That" were a few of my favorite television shows.

Those were the good ol' days, when everything wasn't about drugs and hoes.

My childhood was simple and full of innocence.

I'd honestly give anything up, just to re-live it.