Mamma's don't raise up your sons to be substitute spouses.

I best tell my story in this poem. Mammas don’t raise up your sons to be substitute spouses Just ‘cause your marriage is messed up, you’re single or divorced. Mammas, don’t raise up, your sons, to be substitute spouses. Calling mommy’s little man, oh the man of the house. In the name of love, trapping him like a mouse. Lacking, the ability to relate with an adult spouse. Mammas, don’t raise up, your sons to be substitute spouses. Manipulating them, by a bunch, of hocus pocus. So bringing happiness, to mamma becomes their exclusive focus. Making ‘em feel, like they really are, the man of the house. Mammas, don’t tell your sons, that forever, they're your little man Particularly when you marry again. For will he think, that he is still, the man of the house. Actually, mamma, he’s your captive, young mouse. Mammas, don’t raise up your sons, to be substitute spouses. Stay just mommy instead of the monster of the house. And dam it, get an adult if you need a new spouse. Mammas don’t raise up your sons up to be substitute spouses At the expense, of their innocence, Dear Christ does not make one dam bit of sense. Excuses mammas make, but not a good defence. Being sexualized, for the rest of his freaking existence. Is a burdensome, painful dam life long sentence. Mammas don’t raise up your sons to be substitute spouses. Walking in their rooms in sheer nighties with no bra on. Knowing dam well, their sons are getting a hard-on. Reaching under the covers to help them relax. While they massage you both front and back. Mammas don’t teach whole courses in sex ed. By inviting ‘em to sleep with you in your bed. wearing no more than panties when you lay down your head. Knowing new ideas will fly in their pubescent heads. Unless you want them to go on some trips. from between your warm breasts, to between your hot hips. Mammas, don’t raise up your sons, up to be substitute spouses Doing all, to make mommy’s little man Really believe, he is mommy’s man. Wow, that means, he's the real man of the house. Oh God, don’t enslave him like a dam play toy. owned by mamma, as her young playboy. Mammas, don’t raise up your sons, with sexualized identities. making a normal marriage, for many, an impossibility. Mamma don’t raise up your sons with confused identities. Just ‘cause with him being born a boy, you were not pleased. Having ‘em dress up in sexy lingerie using farm cotton to give ‘em hips and breasts. Completely making him look like a girl for others to see, very sexually dressed. Making a confused identity worse by calling their parts girl parts. Makes him wonder what life would be like if he really had girl parts, All that dam sex might turn them against women completely. For sure it may give them a very confused sexual identity. Mammas, they might never marry because of you no doubt. Something you will never hear your neighbors talk about. Mammas don’t raise up your sons, to meet your twisted needs. For such sick mammas should be swinging high from the trees Such child-abusing, adulterating, whores, Are not wanted, on the earth, living, anymore. Get down humbly before God Almighty, mamas on your knees. For it’s only by grace, You’ll survive face to face, Unless of course, God sends such mammas to the other place.