Enmeshment (Somewhat Daddy’s Girl)

My father is a complex man.

My first memory I have of him is when

I was around 7-years-old

I forgot whether it was a bad grade or

a bad action that made me go from

Daughter to “Retard”

either way I still feel it now.

Words have been his tool ever since he

came from Haiti.

He holds his tongue as if it were both

sword and shield

Because it was all he had when he had nobody,

when he didn’t know the language,

when he doesn’t know what else to use.

I didn’t like it, I still don’t but I use

my words just like him

Because he taught me how powerful they were.

They are his ultimatum when he asks me and my sister

for the success he never had;

besides my mom

they’ve been my every reason for doing well.

Many times they are a lightsaber to the chest—

My very own Darth Vader, “father of the year”—

turning our bond into one like

tectonic plates

constantly shifting and drifting apart

And he’s told me he “doesn’t care

if I hate him as long as I’m successful.”

And I don’t hate him.

Using what he gave me I will tell him

“I’ll be successful and still love you”

“Mwen pral siksé epi m’ap toujou renmen ou”