Brotha, if you can't love my son...

You can build me a desk and lacquer his table,

Put together his chair and help us to be stable.

But it does not matter, your maker’s tastes, 

If you can’t love my son, you must leave this place. 

You can patch up the roof  and replace the ceiling,

Plant a colorful garden that gives me healing,

Read Black newspapers that uplift the race,

But if you can’t love my son, you must leave this place. 

You can make me moan with pleasure unbounded,

Go hiking, to museums to be well rounded.

You can make the best meals we will ever taste,

But if you can’t love my son you must leave this place. 

You can drive us from here to moon and back,

Anticipate what you think we lack.

Give structure and order til things run smooth, 

But if you don’t see his value, it’s time you moved. 

See I lived in a house where a Black man ruled,

Made it hard to breathe cause of swings in his mood.

My mother never stopped his ranting and rage,

She didn’t have the courage to turn the page.

I knew from the jump that this would not be me

I’m clear that my son is my priority. 

You will not break his spirit because you won’t let him be

As a father, boyfriend, or stepfather-to-be.

So my message to all the Black mothers dating men. 

Be clear on the line and be sure to see when

It’s been crossed and you have to make hard decisions.

Don’t wait until you lose touch with your kid.

I’m sure there are plenty who disagree,

but we don’t live together and maybe you can’t see, 

what happens to a child when they can’t do anything right, 

because a man is unwilling to acknowledge his own plight.

Parenting is hard and more difficult alone,

My son’s worth the challenge, so it’s time he moves on.  

See I know first hand if they can’t face their demons 

They may drink, lash out, and roar all their feelings.

But this is not always the way it plays out,

There are quiet ones who manipulate and pout. 

They complain about everything from clean counters to trash

It seems their hobby is knit picking, being mad.

Nevermind, that my son makes straight As and comes home when I say,

He communicates with me throughout the day.

He does his own laundry; he takes out all the trash,

Cooks twice a week; sweeps/mops without being asked,

Cleans his bathroom once a week and the kitchen each night. 

But somehow in your mind, he’s just not right. 

Yes, you created this system and he bucked from the start.

Now he listens to his music and routinely gets to work.

He may not be perfect, but he’s more than enough.

But for some damn reason you still want to be tough.

Well here is my tough, thanks for loving me. 

Our time is done, it’s time you leave.

I cherish the time, it was not a waste.

But if you can’t love my son, you must leave this place!