Baby Mama Blues, Daddy Wounds, and What Not.

This poem was written right before the turning point that I had in terms of communicating with my son’s father. All I have to say is… I’m a Black Queen, a woman, a mother to my beautiful son, a sister, an aunt, a friend, a beautiful Black Goddess – so don’t label me (Baby Mama) and treat me as one dimensional and I shall (and I do) reciprocrate the same unto you. The communication that we have is much better now… still a few things to work on however all aspects of life is a journey. *** This poem is NOT for G-rated ears.


Baby Mama Blues


It’s the on-ly tune
That you can now extract from me.
I gave your four good years
Of my soul to keep.

Your two seeds, Our three angels,
One Brown Suga Baby.
Making a family can be deep

But when the shit hit the fan,
We checked out,
Ran away
From the precipice
Of…
“It’s too hard.”
“Let’s work it out.”
“I quit my job.”
“Our baby’s sick.”
“Shut yo’ punk ass up.”

So, we (the BSB and me)
Took the train
And got ghost
Left yo’ ass
Missed yo’ ass
And…
Still…
You…
Tapped that ass

The gap between us
Is wide, silent,
And spacious.

Now our Brown Suga Baby,
Has a Daddy Wound.
Now all three of us
Have Daddy Wounds.
But what you gone do
To fix his Daddy Wound?
Not a mutha-fuckin’ thing!

Barely call,
Barely write,
Child support
Ain’t never right
And you tellin’ me
How to run my life?

But fuck all that above
I’m just wanting YOU
To be
An influential person
In his life.

But when I ask
You show your ass
And I ain’t never
Outed you publicly
For child support.

And even though
WE fucked up
He’s still our #1 fan!

So come on
I’ve let you in
And I ain’t never closed the door.

But your head just keeps on noddin’
To my Baby Mama Blues.
My Baby Mama Blues.

© 2007 C. Thomas a.k.a. brownsugatou

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