It's Okay

I hope that I am not my father
that I do not

destroy

what is good.

He saw it in me,
the same thing,

the same fate

                      he had fallen to

time and time again.


"You don't have to make yourself lose,"
he says.

"I don't know what you are talking about,"
I say.

He gestures to the colored board that a related child had abandoned me at.
"You make sure that you don't win."

"She's five."
I shrugged.

"I do it too,"
He says, heavy.
"I don't think I am allowed to win."

I am trying to block him out.

"But we are, Tasha.

It's okay.

We are allowed to win sometimes."


Maybe I am afraid of winning.
Maybe I am afraid to get what I want.
Maybe I am afraid to be happy.

Does he think of that?

Maybe
like him,

I will self-destruct if things are too good,
because if I make myself loose,
I do not have to deal with

the pain

of having something taken away.


"I don't know what you're talking about Dad."
I pretend not to cry.