filled with poison

but blessed with beauty and rage

[missdead1ynightshad3]

The chip on my shoulder

There’s this chip on my shoulder I cannot shake.

I’ve tried to rip it off, nip it off, shit I’ve even tried to wash it off.

Before this chip, there was nothing a little soap and water couldn’t cleanse of me, however, this chip was now etched into my skin and had spread from one shoulder to another.

My chest began to cave in, my neck weighed in on itself, my head hung low. This chip had completely compromised my heart and mind. I couldn’t think clearly anymore.

Soon enough my stomach began to ache and I’d lock myself in the bathroom for hours hoping to flush away this chip.

To no avail, it remained.

This chip ate at my passions, I no longer could write because the chip had noticed another person doing so while spying on my shoulder. There, it whispered to me,

“You’re not enough.”

The chip had sunk to my feet. Its words paralyzed me.

So I rotted away in my childhood bed. Creating endless realities with voices of doubt and lack. My body was too heavy to carry its own weight. The chip had consumed me.

For three days, I slept in its belly. Twisting and turning. Screaming and scratching until my nails bled.

Until one day there was silence.

Yours truly,

Victory Chisom

[missdead1ynightshad3]

To be a Black girl is to be inherently misunderstood.

My anxiety is anger. My anger is violence. My violence is a death wish.

I wish to be a river, a steady stream of water. Even then, I’d forever be coarse. Sometimes words are all too much, and I want to be a rock, but then again, I’d forever be tough.

I don’t want to soft. I want to be free. An abstract, abstruse concept that is painfully intangible. An obtuse triangle that can never be molded into the ideas of others. I wish to be bright, beautiful colors that blind the world, then no one will ever know how much disgusting shame crawls beneath the surface of me. Oh, to paint my world with gestured marks, distorted lines, and epiphanies of a new America.

Why so uncontained? Why do you hide?

Speak out to the world. Do not let them steal your shine.

From the gut of your belly to the tip of your tongue, show them how you speak up.

I am here. You see me, yes you do! I am standing right in front of you, in proud silence. I am who I say I am. A Black woman from another, and the lineage goes on.

I’ve made it this far, not for them, but because of them. I am here for me.

I am a compilation of experiences above and beyond. Memories marked indelibly on my mind, and the others elusive, yet inherited, sound in my solar plexus because the body never forgets.

I am more than just my skin and my hair.

I am nobody, yet somebody.

I am girl and boy, big and small, sad and lonely, then later joyous and full.

My Black beauty.

Yours truly,

Victory Chisom

[missdead1ynightshad3]

selfishness leads to loneliness

love leads to steadfastness

bitterness leads to sabotage

forgiveness leads to freedom

sadness leads to self-obsession

boredom leads to creation

curiosity leads to punishment

authenticity leads to abundance

this is a character to conflict exercise.

as for curiosity, mine has always led to punishment whether it was from my parents, elders, stumbling across a youtube video i wish i had never watched, or even the haunting realities of life.

to view curiosity none other than a self-inflicting wound is a choice that i will continue to choose, consciously.

i wonder if it’s self-harming to desperately wish to know, to actively seek that burden and carry it.

[missdead1ynightshad3]

In the silence of admiration comes war and peace

I am consumed by love. My heart flutters at the sound of her name. She’s all I want to see, all I ever want to talk about, she’s the only one that matters. 

I want so badly to show her how much she’s considered and thought of. I believe that my own admiration and care for her equates to the amount a mother has for her precious newborn.

I want to pet her hair, run my fingers through her tresses then kiss her forehead. I want to be gentle with her as if she’s an egg. I want to hold her head as if I am scared it could fall off her neck and roll onto the ground. I want to stare into her eyes and search for the many words withheld. 

Say what you feel. Speak now or I’ll forever hold my peace. You know I won’t say a word, just little prayers, spelling you to my hip. Perhaps, we will make it to thanksgiving. Please, I want to know you then so you’ll hear just how thankful I am for you then I can show you if you’d like. I want to ask what you fancy for Christmas– front row seat tickets to any artist of your choice? New shoes? I know all I want is a walk in a park with you. In every season, I want to walk in a park with you. I regret not walking that one day, I want to make that up to you. I’ll do 1,000 walks, 100,000 steps, 10 years, all with you. I’ll go the distance to show how much I need you to need me. 

I think of her in the past, present and future. It’s obvious I want to directly express these feelings to her the way I broke the third person perspective. I want to face you. This third party of unarticulated desires and clandestine yearnings are killing me, please. I just want– I just need you to walk with me, okay. Understand that I don’t want to chase you away. I’m so scared this will scare you, it’s driving me crazy. No utterance of poetry can conceive my feelings for you. 

What do I have to do to get to you? Climb a sycamore tree? Maybe then I could get a better view, be above all the others who want you as much as I do. 

At times it feels like I am observing you through a follow shot. Behind you, never beside you. It’s a steady, calm shot, however, it can feel as if I am jumbling after you. Could it be the two year difference that I’m trying to catch up to, endlessly trying to see your face.

You’re as cool as ice. I have never seen you sweat, despite your contrary belief. God, I want to see your face. 

It’s like I’m flying too close to the sun. Tear me down now, I’ll be less of a wreck if you do it before June 6th. 

Nonetheless, I feel as cool as ice as well. Coincidentally, I feel lovely and ugly. I feel cool and apprehensive. Spared and consumed. Straight and gay, hm. 

I can do everything, be everywhere, whether you allow me to or not. Two things can be true at the same time… 

You’re my balance I guess which is cool. You’re cool and chill. But know you’re more than that too. You’re mine and you’re yours. 

Yours in friendship and love,

Victory Chisom 💗

every word exactly how i feel

[missdead1ynightshad3]

i have never known peace

i can’t call it by its name nor can i recognize the spirit of its presence. if it has ever graced me, i couldn’t recall its touch.

i think and say nothing. i say too much, then over think.

before i walk outside, my heart begins to tremble.

before i speak, i am rehearsing what i will say.

before i sleep, i prepare my bed exactly the way it was the night before because for the first time in months, i went to bed without the fear of never waking up again.

even in my dreams, i am relentlessly being pursued by faceless men and women wielding long machetes at me.

i do not know these people, but i must fight them.

i have to survive. it’s all i know, dammit.

i grab whatever i can— a pair of scissor on a table. i don’t have time to process if they were intentionally placed, so i have no other option but to fight.

i strike into their skin, over and over until the scene becomes just as blurry as their faces.

everything is gross.

just disturbingly beyond recognition. i couldn’t tell you what i just wrestled with.

yet, despite my weariness, i prepare myself for my next challenge.

this one has a face.

his eyes are dense, and his lips are twisted in a sinister smile. he’s obviously mocking me.

his face is marred, but not by my own doing. a foreboding feeling washes over me. i am so scared.

something is wrong, he knows it too.

i call out to the only name i can think of—

“JESUS”

the man responds with a harsh laugh.

i call unto him again, this time a plea.

“JESUS, please”

my entire body tremors, my scissors poised.

i fear that if He doesn't answer soon, i will be facing my own sins.

suddenly, as the demon rushes towards me, a tap on my shoulder jolts me awake.

once again, i am terrified and shaken.

a feeling i know all too well.

~ warmly & always,

chisom

[missdead1ynightshad3]

dishonesty is the best policy

it seems as if my dishonesty has become a savior of mine while simultaneously being the very demon i cling to.

now, now, i won’t discredit the veil i hide behind to conceal my true feelings because she has been my sentry, my ever present help in times of trouble, my steadfast source,

but i can’t shake this feeling of quiet regrets that linger when he’s gone.

this isn’t even about him; it’s about me, yet isn’t always about him?

and the other guy that it didn’t work out with because i was too much of a spineless idiot to tell him that i…

but this is supposed to about me.

i am the common denominator in all my relationships.

i will account to every choice i have made in this life.

you know what really keeps me at night?

the truth.

and she corners me and hisses mean words at me, demanding i proclaim her name.

but instead, i swallow her whole and continue to live with this lump in my throat that croaks for the lies on my lips.

i will lie in my bed of lies.

its rod of deceit and staff of untruthfulness comfort me.

i promise, he won’t ever get the chance to hurt me again.

believe that.

~ warmly & always,

chisom <3

[missdead1ynightshad3]

keep calm and carry on

remember that friend from two weeks ago i told you about, well she has crawled back to me for more boy problem advice.

i can’t say i am not disappointed, however, i am quite surprised at how i took it. i won’t air her out on Beyoncé’s internet, although, my intense need to be shady needs to be extensively studied. i can say that i am live laugh and LOVING not giving a damn anymore.

as soon as i saw a message from her, i sighed, asking myself, “what now?”

when i opened the doomed imessage, the questions from her rolled in while my patience slowly rolled out.

for every idiotic excuse she created for him, i cocked my neck to the side then began to scratch my head. for a second, i thought to myself, maybe common sense isn’t so common.

just as i was about lose my cool, i asked myself,

“what does this have to do with you?”

are you so attached to your friendships that they’ve become a fragment of your identity? is it wrong to believe that you and your friend are one of each other, so therefore, a slap in her face would leave a mark on my own as well?

unlike previous texts, my advice for her didn’t refer to the option of loving yourself enough to know you deserve better because maybe she doesn’t. maybe she doesn’t deserve better because she’s never wanted better. she wants him. she needs him. if he leaves her, she dies, despite the fact that any respectable quality she held died when she gave her greatest love to him.

now that i think about it, maybe we are one in the same. maybe my mirror is just rose colored shards of glass put together by us and any respectable quality that bounded us and mother teresa died the second we ever put our trust in these men.

because do you want to know what my advice to her was?

have your cake and eat it too.

~ warmly & always,

chisom

[missdead1ynightshad3]

who are you when no one is watching?

truth be told, i’m an idealist. i am swiftly guided by the what ifs rather than the what it actually is part of life which is a blessing and a curse in my opinion. so it’s not a surprise that on most days, i find myself speaking my thoughts aloud to none other than myself, privately, in the comfort of my own room.

over the years, my room had become my very own stage with my name plastered on a big sign where i’d perform my imaginary charting song in front of a-list celebrities such as beyoncé or ayesha erotica or perhaps the oscars where i would announced the academy award winning actor right after a flirtatious banter with chris evans in the crowd and the audience is incredibly charmed by my wit.

however, this time was a little different.

i was in a cozy room, doing an interview when i had been approached with a cathartic sentence of a question,

“who are you when no one is watching?”

as if on command, i snapped back into reality. i wasn’t in the middle of an interview nor was i who i thought i was. i was in my room and i was me, ordinary me.

with tears beginning to flood eyes, i look in front of me to see the words “signed out due to inactivity” across my computer on the website i was meant to take a quiz on.

time had run out for me and here i was, endlessly chasing a bottled dream that’s not real. a fantasy world.

i stand a faceless silhouette of a girl.

so when i am asked,

who are you when no one is watching? i am neither myself or nobody,

eerily,

i am somebody else.

~ warmly & always,

chisom

[missdead1ynightshad3]

the art of being unbothered.

i found myself, on a lonely sunday evening, scrolling aimlessly through youtube videos for at least 30 minutes. i indulged in some tarot for funsies, i saved some subliminals to my watch later playlist, i even giggled at some reels. that was until i stopped on a shera seven video, titled “how to be unbothered as me”.

i was only three minutes in when i swiped out the video, opened my imessage and began texting one of my friends i grew vitriol for.

a little backstory, this friend of mine is in a relationship where she could do better— honestly they both could do better— but for my friend, of course i want the best for her. for every complaint and naive ramble she gave about her relationship, i began to despise her for her lack of a backbone. this went on for months until today.

today, something clicked.

honestly i had to ask myself, why do i care? why do i care that she is with an unemployed man who i have no doubt is manipulating her for sex in exchange for temporary puppy love? no shade.

is that my portion? no! is he the one cashing my check? no! i still get my 8 hours of sleep, i still get money, so why should i even care? her life has nothing to do with me and especially not her relationship.

the art of being unbothered has awakened a new chisom from within me. it is the first breath from a life of arduous stress and suffering. the fresh breeze of carefree joy and restorative peace.

i can say i found this gracing and now i can finally hang my coat up. it’s warm inside, the smell of baked snickerdoodle cookies exude from the kitchen. i don’t carry work on my back nor the whispers of those who can’t even remember how to pronounce my name. just the song i hummed that very morning before the long day began.

my question now is, how long can i keep this up? will it be a couple of hours? maybe a week? i don’t know and i don’t care. lol

~ warmly & always,

chisom

How To Be as Unbothered As Me

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[missdead1ynightshad3]

i am perpetually expecting even when there’s nothing to look forward to. whether it’s tomorrow, three months from now, or even 25. maybe it’s for a reason.

[missdead1ynightshad3]

the feminine urge to be ever constantly changing my life, routines and mindset. 🧘🏿‍♀️

[shefromhouston]

i really do it for the girls. specifically the girly girls.