I never knew my father since he left our house when I was three. I met him when I was 21. He now feels as though I should give up my life here in the "ghetto" and move to the "suburbs" of Arizona. He asked me one day what I wanted out of life and where was I headed being a young, African-American single mom living in Boston. I told him, "This ghetto is who raised me."

The Ghetto is Who Raised Me

I was asked one time, what exactly do I see,
Outside my window, in these ghetto streets.

"I see what I want, it's all up to me,"
but my father couldn't understand that, living in Arizona with his family.

"I see success, I see happiness, and I definitely see what's mine,
My life is an endless challenge and as beautiful as a purple rose vine."

My life is what I make it, now matter where I am,
And I refuse to use excuses like, "My father was never there."

So what that he was absent, that doesn't make me less
Of the woman that I am, or the fact that I hate wearing a dress.

I am a mother... a single one at that,
And that to me stands taller than any scientific fact.

I feed my child, I love my child, and I pay her school,
Regardless of where I am, I'm the one she'll run to.

Whether it's in the ghetto or in the suburbs,
My daughter will understand that those are two irrelevant words.

Words some would like to believe, or even plant in my head,
That I'm from the ghetto and will never get ahead.

To those who haven't caught on yet, I'm sorry you feel this way,
But what you don't understand is, the ghetto made me this way.

Smart, independent, ambitious, beautiful and cool,
Oh, don't forget my daughter, age four, with a seven-year-old IQ.

I am a single mom, born and raised poor,
Which brings me to my conclusion: Success knocks every day, heavily at my door!

Rashida Gittens is a former staff associate at the SABES Central Resource Center in Boston.