Spiral

When the day grows quiet,

my mind stirs and spins—

a whirlwind of thoughts,

thick clouds forming,

hiding the light I so desperately seek.

On those days, I retreat into silence,

reflecting on all I’ve done—

the rights, the wrongs,

the spirals that pull me down,

like Alice falling, endlessly.

“Are you okay?” they ask.

“Yeah, just tired,” I reply,

a mask to shield the storm inside.

The days stretch longer,

leaving me hollow and numb,

awake in the dark,

wondering:

Who have I become?

I cannot fathom the person I am today—

bitter or sweet,

lost in retreat.

How did I get here?

Who can I blame?

Me.

The answer whispers back,

sharp and unforgiving.

“It was you.

No one else.

You ran too fast,

hiding in retreat,

refusing to own the weight of your words.”

I argue with myself,

desperate to believe

there’s no way I did this alone.

But then another voice speaks:

“You left.

You thought it was for the best.

But you never thought it through.

And now you sit here,

wanting the earth to swallow you whole,

lost in the darkness,

standing on two shaky feet,

with only soft whispers to guide you.”

I fight back.

“No, it’s not all on me,” I insist.

But deep down, I know:

it was me.

And now I sit,

learning to unlearn—

spilling tea on others’ wars

while never enlisting in my own.

I distracted myself,

avoiding the truth.

But now the reckoning comes.

Who did I betray?

Why is there silence?

Because this answer

can only come from within.

I must meet myself—

the me who unlearned the toxicity,

who let go of the questionable choices,

who chose, finally, to put herself first.

A love I now know

only I can give myself.

A warrior,

no longer defeated.

A heart once shattered,

rebuilt piece by piece.

Because I did that.

We did that.

And yet, how could I have been so blind?

To sink into a mess I only half-created?

This is me now,

the best I’ve been,

but still striving for more.

I will not lie down,

and I will not accept defeat.