I don’t want no daughter,
because I know
I’d have to spend too much time
reminding her that
I am the woman of this house.
Little girl,
you bet not forget my name
since I’ll be the one
paying for this bitch.
You need me
and let me tell you
that I’m not needy
for what you barely got to give.
I am the woman of this house.
When I pound my foot on this floor
and you hear echos through these walls,
know that’s where this foot stays.
No, I will not be disrespected.
No, you don’t have control
of what goes on here.
Know full well
that you have the mind of a child
and I don’t know nothing about wisdom
coming from the mouth of babes.
I will be the woman of my house.
And, no, I don’t want no daughter.
I don’t have love big enough
for her to be big.
I don’t have patience long enough
for her to stretch my mind.
I’ve lived in too much fear
of being buried and shrunk down
to have her narrow ass
rising up against me,
towering over me,
to risk her not loving me
like I want her to love me,
to risk her not being
how I imagined she’d be.
I shake at the thought of a little girl,
so, God, save her from my hands
and drop her in the arms of another woman.
But if a girl child
should ever come from me,
bring my knees to the dirt
and give me the faith
to grip her hand in my sweaty palm,
to endure by her side
through anything.
If a girl child
should ever come from me,
let me also
birth my strength.
Little girl,
I promise my house will be yours.
