dizzy isn’t a spell cast by a witch’s hand.
it’s conjured through a whirlwind of cerebration,
filled with dark truths and petrifying liberation.
brewed in perturbed brine,
the notions simmer in a cauldron of the psyche.
boiling a poison so toxic,
the elixir emits a fume flagrant with war.
fate nearly sealed as the substance allures.
the darkness cast at the witch’s hand,
taken aback by a growing radiance—
under a spell somehow becoming undone.
wicked is the bond,
keeping chakras dim and misaligned.
still, the mirage of sunlight is no delusion,
beckoning the abstract manumission,
peeking through the veil of the witch’s lair.
my second published poem, “vexatious,”opens a window to what survival mode truly looks like. it paints a picture of how your mind can become a battleground when life—and the people you encounter—are incapable of truly holding space for you.
i wrote this piece on january 12th, 2025. i woke up at like five or six in the morning feeling deeply undeserving of things like love, care, etc.
as i wrote this newer piece, i came to a deep realization:
i’ve been living in survival mode for at least fifteen years.
roots planted in malnourished soil.
i wasn’t given the space for my depth and complexity to thrive.
i grew up in a household with traditional parents who held tightly to the idea of “a child stays in a child’s place.” my dad especially believed in this. he pushed me so hard as a kid.
i had to be perfect.
yet, i wasn’t in his eyes. his approval was never really there. i was expected to perform, literally and i guess figuratively too.
i also dealt with bullying from family and other people around me. i struggled with my weight as a kid and people made sure to make a point of it. my siblings—specifically my sister—even played a role, calling me ugly and fat when i was already not confident in myself as a teen.
my life has seemingly always been a performance with hints of the real me peering from the shadows, attempting to whisper who i was really was.
i was forced to handle the pressure of life in this way. i’ve never truly known who i was at my core because of it all. understanding myself was further fractured.
seeds sewn with pesticides.
*i’d like to add a trigger warning to this section*
i was so pressed for validation from the external—especially with men. as a teen, the experiences with them were traumatic from the start.
i was sexual assaulted by three male family members, two on my mom’s side and one on my dad’s.
i didn’t have the language to process what was happening to me—or the safety to say no. i knew it was wrong, and I was scared. but at the same time, the attention felt confusingly validating.
it lasted for a while until i was about fifteen or sixteen. by then, my worth and sense of self was tied to objectification. i leaned into being “wanted,” or lusted after, and became quite male-centered. and continued to live that way for years.
i was alone, dealing with all of this.
baring strong but rotting fruit.
i had to wear masks that developed from these experiences. i learned that no one will be here for me or truly understand my pain. i was engulfed by criticism and rejection.
i learned to question trust, stay in control, protect myself and hide behind multiple variations of the Melpomene and Thalia i needed to survive.
control felt safe as i got older. but i may have overdone it in some situations. eventually, i started to blame myself when things went wrong or fell apart.
at times, i still do.
i—my brain was conditioned to be this way…and it’s been so exhausting.
i didn’t know how to cope with feeling “different” all the time—even as a kid. i felt more sensitive than others as well as intense and, i guess, complicated.
shit fucking bothers me, okay!? i WAS JUST TOO COMPLEX for SUCH SHALLOW SPACES I FOUND MYSELF IN.
my pain shape-shifted me so much. it has consumed me and the performance has become so hard to keep up…unless i’m alone.
right now, i’m at war with myself. its because i am complex or complicated or whatever. and i’m still wrapping my head around that in itself.
from new soil comes a new seed.
letting go and healing this version of myself is one of the hardest things i’ve done—ever!
“vexatious” speaks to the tug-o-war of who i’ve been and who i actually am.
on this journey, i feel like i’m swimming upward in tar and only my eyes break the surface. i see more for myself—i see me. even though getting out of the tar feels so impossible, unfamiliar, and petrifying.
this poem drips with imagery that i hope takes you on a visual ride, like a short film with only a script, to show you that this personal journey is nonlinear.
again i say, this journey is NOT linear.
i really hope that ‘vexatious” invokes some sort of emotion in you. writing is how i cope with the ups and downs of my journey, and i wanted to share that today.
this piece may become part of a collection of works i’m building, highlighting self-acceptance and my complexities.
we’ll see.
-signed g tha e.
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