My Father’s Daughter: The Real July

I wrote this after experiencing a Complex PTSD from episode when I looked at a photo from 2016. No names, but the country blues are now behind me. I do not cave to narcissism.

I WROTE THIS. I CREATED THIS.

My Father’s Daughter: The Real July, Beyond the Hierarchy 2016

For a long time, the memory of July 25, 2016, sat like a frozen wound. It was a warm night, enough to trick me into believing I belonged to a circle that actually demanded I shrink to fit. They offered a "family" built on a money-based hierarchy and transactional elitism, where my reality was just "noise" they could not tune out.

But today, the truth rose up.

After grounding myself in the quiet of my home in Riverside, I realized I did not lose them because of what I lacked I lost them because I refused to perform fake perfection. I am my father’s daughter. Victor Reeves Trusselli was a giant who measured me by my heart, not a bank balance.

This film is my reclamation. I took that painful "trickster" night and animated it into a sovereign artifact. With Sweetie Bird as my Executive Feathered Producer, I’ve layered my own baritone truth over the flowing river and flying birds of my art.

I am Vicki Lawana Trusselli. I am unbought, unbossed, and absolutely free.

The Trick of the Warm July Night

A Blues Prose Poem from the Heart of Trusselli Art

The night was warm enough to trick me into believing

we were a family again

July 25th, 2016,

the

air holding its breath while I tried to belong.

The Anchor in the Blue

For Victor, my late daddy, a music note, a friend.

They tried to measure me in pews and bankbooks,

but I had already been measured by a giant.

I had a daddy who was my best friend

a man who did not need a hierarchy to stand tall.

He gave me a name and a truth that does not tarnish,

a "Trusselli" heart that knows gold from glitter.

When the July night tricked me,

I looked back at the steady light in his eyes.

He is the river that keeps on running,

the quiet strength in the middle of the noise.

I am my father’s daughter

unbought, unbossed, and absolutely free.

The air was holding its breath on July 25th, 2016.

It was a warm night enough to trick me

a sweet, heavy heat that whispered I finally belonged,

that the circle was open, that the table was set for me, too.

I saw the smiles and felt the welcome,

not knowing it was a loan, I could not afford to keep.

They dressed their judgment in Sunday best and quiet rooms.

They built a hierarchy out of church pews and bank balances,

a caste system where my Medicaid was a stain

and my "realness" was a noise they could not tune out.

I was looking for a family; they were looking for a performance.

I brought a soul; they wanted a curated image.

So, I went back to the water. I went back to the brush.

I washed the gaslighting off my skin and 'lotioned' up my spirit.

I see the birds flying in my painting now they do not ask for a credit score.

I see the river running, it does not care if I am "worthy."

I lost the fake warmth of that July night,

but I found the fire that keeps my own heart alive.

I did not shrink. I did not obey.

I am Vicki Lawana Trusselli,

And my truth is the only currency that matters here.