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Deceiving Isn't It?
A lyrical dive into the bittersweet realities of growing up and finding oneself. This evocative collection of poetry captures the raw, tender, and often unspoken truths of navigating life’s transitions. From the ache of letting go to the exhilaration of self-discovery, each poem is a stepping stone on the winding path toward identity and belonging.
For anyone who has ever felt caught between the past and the future, Deceiving Isn’t It? offers a poignant reminder that growth is both painful and beautiful—and that every moment, no matter how fleeting, matters.
For anyone who has ever felt caught between the past and the future, Deceiving Isn’t It? offers a poignant reminder that growth is both painful and beautiful—and that every moment, no matter how fleeting, matters.
36 pages, Kindle Edition
Published March 4, 2025
About the author
Madi Fiely
1 bookMadi Fiely is an award-winning poet whose words weave the intricate threads of personal history and shared human experience. Her poem, Staring at the TV Screen, earned 1st place in the 2024 Writerwerx University Poetry Contest, a testament to her evocative, introspective voice. Raised under the big skies of Oklahoma and now rooted in Georgia, she finds inspiration in quiet moments with her cat Ginger, the nostalgia of antique malls, and the subtle beauty of nature. When not lost in the alchemy of language, she turns to film and photography, capturing the fleeting and the timeless in equal measure.
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
June 11, 2025
Like any work of art, it took me multiple reads to grasp the weight of this book. On my first read I merely marveled at the rich diction: malleable cocoons and sugar crystals. Later on I found that these wonderful cement images stitch the worn tapestry of Deceiving, Isn’t It through the journey into young-adulthood. Weaving a heartful tale of self-discovery, this book explores the very idea of the self, specifically one that is so often defined by others.
Madi Fiely encapsulates how one cast to the wayside of society must come to understand herself. “Pass Into Oblivion” expresses one of the most relatable lines to me, “As a child, I would walk so slowly, / So quietly / That no one ever heard me.” I too remember sneaking around the house as a child, using smallness, the only defense I had, against my larger, more formidable, father. Something deep inside me remembered the distant feeling of hiding behind my mother’s legs. I don’t know if we ever outgrow that feeling of fear creeping around a space, even if that other person is relatively harmless. Instead, that primal tiptoeing that took root in vulnerable childhood stays within us as we add more layers onto ourselves.
There’s a sense of growth through travel that permeates several poems. We “traverse the rotted landscape” with Fiely, “roaming an unforgivable place” as “passing ships” haunted by some shadow, be it men, judgement, or family trauma. In fact, several of the poems take on the question of inherited fears from a chain of women come past. “A woman is a sock that fell out of your laundry basket.” These women are recurring characters, not main ones, passed along on platters as appetizers, objects. It’s no wonder the speaker later questions the body she was given, wanting to ditch the stretch marks in favor of smooth marble. Who is to blame for this eventually goes by the wayside as in “Self-Contained,” the speaker has carved out a little hideaway for herself, a studio apartment (a refuge) where there’s no need to walk quietly because there’s no one else around to disturb. Ownership over a place are things no prior matriarch had the privilege to hold, and the poem revels in this newfound peace. In spite of the pain of past mothers, the speaker herself claims her own little palace.
For anyone who has ever felt small in the world, Deceiving, Isn’t It shows a way forward. I kept thinking of the story of Persephone, a Greek goddess prized for her youth and beauty and stolen away by the god of the underworld, when reading the book for the second time. I think this book tells the second part of Persephone’s story where she climbs out of the prison of the underworld back up to the surface and for a brief moment feels the wind through her hair. It’s a struggle to define your own image in the face of others’ expectations of you, especially in the exposed identities of childhood or womanhood, but there are moments of breakthrough where you cease being an item on a menu and become a bloom of jasmine in the spring.
Madi Fiely encapsulates how one cast to the wayside of society must come to understand herself. “Pass Into Oblivion” expresses one of the most relatable lines to me, “As a child, I would walk so slowly, / So quietly / That no one ever heard me.” I too remember sneaking around the house as a child, using smallness, the only defense I had, against my larger, more formidable, father. Something deep inside me remembered the distant feeling of hiding behind my mother’s legs. I don’t know if we ever outgrow that feeling of fear creeping around a space, even if that other person is relatively harmless. Instead, that primal tiptoeing that took root in vulnerable childhood stays within us as we add more layers onto ourselves.
There’s a sense of growth through travel that permeates several poems. We “traverse the rotted landscape” with Fiely, “roaming an unforgivable place” as “passing ships” haunted by some shadow, be it men, judgement, or family trauma. In fact, several of the poems take on the question of inherited fears from a chain of women come past. “A woman is a sock that fell out of your laundry basket.” These women are recurring characters, not main ones, passed along on platters as appetizers, objects. It’s no wonder the speaker later questions the body she was given, wanting to ditch the stretch marks in favor of smooth marble. Who is to blame for this eventually goes by the wayside as in “Self-Contained,” the speaker has carved out a little hideaway for herself, a studio apartment (a refuge) where there’s no need to walk quietly because there’s no one else around to disturb. Ownership over a place are things no prior matriarch had the privilege to hold, and the poem revels in this newfound peace. In spite of the pain of past mothers, the speaker herself claims her own little palace.
For anyone who has ever felt small in the world, Deceiving, Isn’t It shows a way forward. I kept thinking of the story of Persephone, a Greek goddess prized for her youth and beauty and stolen away by the god of the underworld, when reading the book for the second time. I think this book tells the second part of Persephone’s story where she climbs out of the prison of the underworld back up to the surface and for a brief moment feels the wind through her hair. It’s a struggle to define your own image in the face of others’ expectations of you, especially in the exposed identities of childhood or womanhood, but there are moments of breakthrough where you cease being an item on a menu and become a bloom of jasmine in the spring.
April 9, 2025
Madi Fiely’s DECEIVING, ISN’T IT? unfurls like a secret whispered in the dead of night, a confession shared under the watchful gaze of a solitary moon. Holding this book, its dedication a warm handclasp to those who have sculpted our present selves from inherited legacies, feels intensely personal. The author’s voice, raw and unafraid, navigates the labyrinthine corridors of human emotion with a startling intimacy.
The poems within are visceral landscapes, painted with the stark duality of experience. In "Mirage," the intoxicating allure of pain is laid bare, the sweet honeysuckle taste masking a cyanide of despondency. This paradoxical embrace of pleasure and suffering echoes throughout the collection, a testament to the intricate and often contradictory nature of desire and attachment. The imagery is potent – wilting branches, smooth vines, a wretched elixir – each line a brushstroke adding depth to the emotional canvas.
The accompanying prose pieces, like "Cellophane glass" and "City noise," act as thematic anchors, grounding the more ethereal explorations of the poetry. "Cellophane glass" offers a poignant metaphor for inner beauty revealed through vulnerability, a geode waiting to be discovered amidst a rotted landscape. "City noise" elevates a mundane moment – observing strangers from a parking deck – into a philosophical contemplation of shared humanity and the stories we weave around unfamiliar lives.
Cherished moments with DECEIVING, ISN’T IT? unfold in the quietude of a deep night, the warmth of a hot chocolate coffee cupped in my hands. The flickering lamplight casts long shadows as I delve into Fiely’s verses. Each poem becomes a mirror reflecting fragments of my own experiences, the ache of longing in "Staring at the tv screen," the desperate vulnerability of "If," the quiet resilience celebrated in "A woman." The raw honesty of "Grit," the cyclical struggle against inner turmoil, resonates with a profound understanding. And the final piece, "two sides of the same coin," with its poignant dialogue on truth and the camouflage of embarrassment, lingers long after the page is turned.
Fiely’s work is not merely read; it is felt. It’s a journey through the shadowed valleys and fleeting sunlit peaks of the human heart, rendered with a lyrical precision that is both unsettling and deeply comforting. This is a book to be savored, each poem and prose piece a gem unearthed in the quiet hours, leaving a lasting imprint on the soul.
The poems within are visceral landscapes, painted with the stark duality of experience. In "Mirage," the intoxicating allure of pain is laid bare, the sweet honeysuckle taste masking a cyanide of despondency. This paradoxical embrace of pleasure and suffering echoes throughout the collection, a testament to the intricate and often contradictory nature of desire and attachment. The imagery is potent – wilting branches, smooth vines, a wretched elixir – each line a brushstroke adding depth to the emotional canvas.
The accompanying prose pieces, like "Cellophane glass" and "City noise," act as thematic anchors, grounding the more ethereal explorations of the poetry. "Cellophane glass" offers a poignant metaphor for inner beauty revealed through vulnerability, a geode waiting to be discovered amidst a rotted landscape. "City noise" elevates a mundane moment – observing strangers from a parking deck – into a philosophical contemplation of shared humanity and the stories we weave around unfamiliar lives.
Cherished moments with DECEIVING, ISN’T IT? unfold in the quietude of a deep night, the warmth of a hot chocolate coffee cupped in my hands. The flickering lamplight casts long shadows as I delve into Fiely’s verses. Each poem becomes a mirror reflecting fragments of my own experiences, the ache of longing in "Staring at the tv screen," the desperate vulnerability of "If," the quiet resilience celebrated in "A woman." The raw honesty of "Grit," the cyclical struggle against inner turmoil, resonates with a profound understanding. And the final piece, "two sides of the same coin," with its poignant dialogue on truth and the camouflage of embarrassment, lingers long after the page is turned.
Fiely’s work is not merely read; it is felt. It’s a journey through the shadowed valleys and fleeting sunlit peaks of the human heart, rendered with a lyrical precision that is both unsettling and deeply comforting. This is a book to be savored, each poem and prose piece a gem unearthed in the quiet hours, leaving a lasting imprint on the soul.
March 18, 2025
An incredible first effort by a gifted poet
Madi Fiely offers readers a glimpse into her own life through introspective, deeply personal poems. Her grasp of imagery pulls the reader in, while her themes will leave you lost in thought for days to come. From the euphoric simplicity of Slice of Heaven, to the pain oozing from Mirage, Fiely does not hold back or limit her subject matter.
If you enjoy Sylvia Plath or gasping for air after holding your head under water, you'll enjoy "Deceiving, Isn't It."
Madi Fiely offers readers a glimpse into her own life through introspective, deeply personal poems. Her grasp of imagery pulls the reader in, while her themes will leave you lost in thought for days to come. From the euphoric simplicity of Slice of Heaven, to the pain oozing from Mirage, Fiely does not hold back or limit her subject matter.
If you enjoy Sylvia Plath or gasping for air after holding your head under water, you'll enjoy "Deceiving, Isn't It."
May 4, 2025
Deceiving Isn't It? by Madi Fiely didn't resonate with me. The poetry collection touches on themes of growth, identity, and self-discovery, but the language and emotions felt overly simplistic and clichéd. Some poems seemed to rely on familiar tropes without adding a fresh perspective. Unfortunately, I didn't find myself drawn to Madi's voice or style. Maybe it'll connect with others, but it wasn't my cup of tea.
September 19, 2025
Riveting and poetic, Madi Fiely guides us through a series of rooms in which we encounter life and hope, spite and anguish, while she points out what we have foolishly missed at first glance. Thoughts that riddle on a long drive across the country in the middle of the night. An elemental depth which can only be found here. Marvelous!
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews