Reflections Of Certain Roots: A Poem

I’d let you take up so much space in my brain.

And you’d do whatever you wanted, disrespecting

Every centimetre you could find with all the trash

Leaking out of you. You’d never transform your

Misery into something better, no, you wanted to infect

Everybody with it. It was the part of my brain that

Contained all  my fears that cradled you, got addicted to you.

Submissive, exposed and repetitive. I always wondered

What else I still had to learn to finally detach myself from you.


My mind would blow you out of proportion, like a balloon

Holding on to the sensation before the burst and I wouldn’t

Be able to breathe, a poisonous mushroom growing in full,

Spreading, multiplying and I’d wander around a labyrinth,

Starving with nothing else to eat. Dead alleys left and right.

You are what I think you are in my mind. I’m the one making

You matter, letting you in and sully where I live and breathe.


You’re only a problem outside of me if you’re one inside of me first.

Or was it the other way around?

My mind would dissect you, filter

Everything that terrified me the most about you

And the more I distanced myself

From you, the bigger your shadow in my head grew

And I realised this is me now.

The ties are cut, yet your residue is still churning,

Running on memory and past input.

Maybe I never asked myself what I was so afraid of,

Why I credited you with such power?

Or maybe I never found an answer.

What did you represent?

What were the roots within

Me that made you so symbolic and volatile,

Echoing in me still?


I thought that my life was in your hands.

Everything became irrational and subterranean.

I thought that you’d plot against me to show me that you’re in charge.

You did and guess what, I’m still alive.


The control freak within me wouldn’t be robbed of her own narrative,

You ill-intentioned fabricator of maniacal distortions.

You painted everything black and white.

I know that you spread your bile everywhere

Believing that it would affect me still.


Fuck your pseudo victim act and all your crocodile tears,

The small minds that follow you blindly, the egg yolks for brains

That absorb your defamation headlines, the spoiled toxic brat you

Are inside, the pretentious shallow enlightenment charade you’re trying to sell

Whilst squeezing the life out of everyone.

photo of woman leaning on pole while holding molotov cocktail and smoking a cigarette
Photo by Juliana Stein on



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