The Backseat

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I made my child there,

in the backseat of his brother’s red van.

too young to be dating, much less having sex

I was an eager rebel,

earnestly seeking out dangers 

only he could teach

yearning for emotions only he could evoke.

I was inexperienced, you see,

way too childish to fall in love but determined to nevertheless.

Hours passed and I’ve aged a few years

growing up on back seats and heated hoods

learning the ways of women

and the burdens that they bare…

The indentations of the gear stick permanently 

etched into my fifteen year old 

evangelical, ace student skin,

who someone wanted to turn out and bring low.

Each night,

as my haven of leather adjusted back so my legs could spread,

i wondered, if it was worth it…in the end

worth being a statistic 

poor, black, teenage single mother,

with no help and no man around.

Was it worth it?

The back seats and cold nights

and watching his love be given to another? 

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2 thoughts on “The Backseat

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