The Cracked Mirror

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The Cracked Mirror

Her name was worthy.
She lived on abundance street, things were plentiful so was her guilt towards those with little, it was so pitiful.

With the best education in her quiver, knowledge as power was not great for it led to self debasing and the sinkhole of depression.

Showers of expressive love felt like pins and needles bruising her body as she decoded massive hate was at the pinnacle.

Words of kindness were like darts hitting her heart as she defined the glare of their eyes as cold and calculating.

Sought after by many who saw her as wise, she obliged, though hated the popular ride, so at times she would feign sickness and hide.

She rolled her eyes when her name “Worthy” was praised, crying out “why me and not them!”

Her inner self she deemed unworthy to be trapped in a life where she always felt guilty.

Escape she finally did in the cracked mirror of her destiny to create for herself a reality in that place of her preferred identity.

©️16-June2018 DEN -The Witness

Never Again

Never Again.
From her jail house soul screamed words like hardballs that hit the walls of the prison of her existence and bounced back at her with such force she fell into a deep depression, swallowed the guile of shame and felt the chains of guilt yet again!
Weeping for liberation …again.
Whingeing in frustration …again
and again…
“Mad? Who said I am mad? I have gladly left the land of OZ, the place of gourmet meals laced with poison, where exposed as mere sugar coated lies, sages’ tongues wag niceties and acts picture love”
Hmm, she had left that place…only in her dreams but not in reality it seems.
She yearned to escape the less than place under smothering commands and fearful reprimands, to the more than place of the overcomer and a realised destiny.
No more a locomotive fuelled by anger amidst the wounded masses called Reactionary.
Weeping for liberation … again
Whingeing in frustration … again
and again…
The sound of her tears dripping on the mirror beneath her face reminded her of raindrops on her window sill as she lay peaceful…once upon a time.
She looked back at self and questioned “where is that peace of yesteryears? Where?” then instead of her face she saw Chaos, that counterfeit self… that agent of confusion, that thief of her destiny… that…then she screamed.
A scream that was unlike the sound of defeat, but like a ball of fire unwilling to hit the ground lifeless, for it gained momentum, energised and thundered a command to the lifelong foe glaring back at her “DEPART!”.
As the sound echoed, she saw Chaos flee with her hangman’s noose in hand with dreadful masked cohorts in tow.
And then she knew it,
her voice once lost, regained,
her true self, reacquainted.
No more to weep for liberation … again.
No more to whinge in frustration … again.
Never again
©️April 2019 DENyamekye

Change His Story

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Change His Story
———————————————-—-He was a youth neglected
Gang life he accepted
In dead end street he landed
Now in a coffin forever stranded.
Let us do our part
to reach out to
many a child
neglected.
Let us work
together to
seek out
many a youth
disconnected.
A life goal… to
see many a gang
disbanded.
©️18-05-19 DENyamekye

 

 

 

 

 

Childhood knocks & knock on Effects … Awareness

(Poem – The Awakening below ) 

This is Mental Health Week UK (13-19th May) and Mental Health Month (May) USA

As we all know, there is a knock on effect to problematic issues that happen in our childhood. Thought patterns more often than not become “twisted” due to feelings of anger, revenge or seeking retaliation. Anger and negativity is projected on other people who remind one the abuser.

Some young people join gangs for affirmation, acceptance and love as a result.

The beginning of the healing process is when one realises they have a problem and are willing to confront it head on and seek help.
Hopefully bringing awareness to such issues will cause many to do just that; self-assess, acknowledge a problem, resolve to face it through options available including support. This is because without doing so the future is bleak and potential for greatness and a bright future is never tapped into or realised.

Let those of us who can do our part; Raising Awareness Saves a destiny <> Saves a life

__________**______________

The Awakening 

Razor is my man, loves me and calls me “son”. speaks to me like a Father so I joined his gang “Blades in the Hood”, sooner than later.

My boy self was chained tight to papa, crying like a sissy every night, since he slammed the door shut, his face never again to see.

I lie… I see his face still… even at night curled up like a child.

I see his face in grown men

withering in pain,

crying out,

begging for mercy,

everytime our knives and guns do their thing…target their prey.

And I hear the laughing voice in my head “pay back time!”. Feeling like superman, chains unlocked and riding high…

But …but another voice like mama’s rings louder “life is a lie, get help now!”

Life is a lie, I need help now!

©️26-12-2018 DENyamekye

If you have been affected by this poem (it reminds you of someone) and would like personal (or for someone) prayer, counselling and additional information of where to get help, please email: thewitnessinstitute@gmail.com

On Facebook ? Please like page: The Wrighteous Witness

Domestic Death Trap

Slapped once, reassured of his love.

She stayed.

He broke her ribs twice. “I fell down the stairs” she said.

For him she always lied.

Pushed so hard against the door, the wood cracked. He begged for forgiveness.

She stayed.

Who told her of her worth, that she needed to leave to live?

Her true friends tried.

“His unfounded jealousy, blind rage were due to stress” she said.

Her excuses for him, dismayed.

The police found her dead body in a forest, battered and bruised. With no evidence nor history of violence, he was free.

So another victim he tried, while in a grave his wife laid.

©22-03-2018 DENyamekye

The Awakening

Razor is my man, loves me and calls me “son”. speaks to me like a Father so I joined his gang “Blades in the Hood”, sooner than later.

My boy self was chained tight to papa, crying like a sissy every night, since he slammed the door shut, his face never again to see.

I lie… I see his face still… even at night curled up like a child.

I see his face in grown men

withering in pain,

crying out,

begging for mercy,

everytime our knives and guns do their thing…target their prey.

And I hear the laughing voice in my head “pay back time!”. Feeling like superman, chains unlocked and riding high…

But …but another voice like mama’s rings louder “life is a lie, get help now!”

Life is a lie, I need help now!

©️26-12-2018 DENyamekye

If you have been affected by this poem (it reminds you of someone) highlighting mental health issues and would like personal (or for someone) prayer, counselling and additional information of where to get help, please email: thewitnessinstitute@gmail.com

On Facebook ? Please like page: The Witness Institute

Freedom from Abuse: The Caged Bird’s Escape

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After watching CEO and inspirational speaker and best selling author Lisa Nichol’s inspiring video (check it out on the Gold cast Facebook page or You Tube) of a life transformed after suffering domestic abuse by her fiancé, I felt inspired to engage in some scribal indulgence telling a story of redemption but from a view point that considers the abuser’s mindset and triggers, not as a means of justification but shedding some light on some of the “hidden demons” in play in such situations.

The Caged Bird’s Escape:

Desired with his enticing eyes, colourful words and decorated with roses and alluring scents she felt on top, the executive of his heart, the CEO of his life.

In one night her dreams had come true; from reams of beauties she was chosen by one of the Hedge-Fund crew.

To him she was just meat, one of many slaughtered for devouring, bought in a club in one of many spending sprees he called sport.

A business man, bonus acquiring sharp talker in the square mile by day and by night a gigolo, a Casanova in clubs he called “cattle markets” bidding with his eyes for the best cow.. he laughs “that’s the woman- A COW!”

Flashes of his mother often appeared before his eyes, waving to him, a 6 year old “mummy is going to the shop, I will return” She never did.. “liars all of them”!

Sly as a fox, an expert in his game, he waited until the image of her was locked in him, he, a mirror that defined her significance. Now he had god-like relevance, the Fowler’s cage was her home.

One day was as living in a romantic play pen; his voice soft and soothing and to love songs they were waltzing.

Another was life in a torture chamber under a man-child’s bitter verbal whip and slaps with hate-filled vomit until she suffocated in fear and self hate. Every morning she braced herself for what was amiss, the ready for work psycho’s bullets of abuse and punches in her abdomen with a goodbye kiss.

A cycle of confused voices reeled in the cage “I love you”, “I love you not” as the battered bird wailed without a sound. In his “you are to blame! blame! blame! she felt grief and shame! shame! shame!

A rude awakening was the uncontrollable pain in her abdomen. The day of reckoning had come for from the abyss of farce living she heard the voices of many women thundering “call the ambulance or die!” The freedom fighter from deep within joined in, beckoning.

“How are you today, my dear?”
Startled, she opened her eyes and saw a face beaming at her “I am Claire”
“Claire?”
“Yes, I am your nurse, you called the ambulance, they broke in ‘cause you fainted after the call. Julie, your internal wounds and bleeding were serious. Thank God you came on time! You will be fine”

Julie shut her eyes. Smiling the risen woman within spoke:
“Yes thank God!
To a “A just in time” God: thank you!
I was that woman destined for a bright future based on scripture, even the prophetic word, then I lost my way and met a trickster and by him I became nothing but a caged bird in a home any woman would dread.

I was able to walk away, escape from the snare of the Fowler, but for him in compassion I daily kneel to pray and for caged birds unlike me who for reasons choose to stay, I shall sing a song of deliverance, that one day sunshine shall overtake the dark clouds of their circumstance.

”Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers: the snare is broken, and we are escaped.
Our help is in the name of the LORD, who made heaven and earth.”
(Psalm 124:7-8)

Song – My Soul Escaped by Windsor Dutton You Tube https://youtu.be/5TNUtN9a3vo

©11/11/2017 Deborah E Nyamekye