Separation n Anxiety

I am sitting alone in LAX gate 51 B. Green dress fabric imported from Ghana purchased in the newly gentrified West End of Atlanta. My pink nails desperately need a fill in. I take a second to scratch my head which is covered in blonde braids. As I type this describing myself I think of a funny social media comment. I was once called "loud, tacky, and cheap". Perception is reality. I dont look any different from most black girls in the West End. Were all on a wave of pride and it shows. Ive left my daughter with my mother. My motives are clear and it HURTS. My daughter is named Divinity. Shes so soft and pretty. I dont think she's pretty because I am her mother. I know she's pretty because I study every human I encounter. If I had more time I could write about my unofficial sociological study of humans. I could go on to tell you that a large group of Black American Women of Low Socioeconomic status are raising children alone. The men who we slept with have a strong disdain for us. There seems to be a connection in poverty and the infamous title "baby mama". My daughter will turn one this month. I have joined the ranks of the "strong black women" who do it alone. This circumstance has me now sitting in LAX without my daughter feeling a myriad of emotions. Outsiders say were foolish and should have made better choices. I agree. Nonetheless the children are here. The mommys are tired and sad. The daddys are not in the equation...... God bless my mother and all of the Grandmothers who help raise the fatherless.