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

Paying back Papa…?

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

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Freedom from Abuse: The Caged Bird’s Escape

70717F50-B087-4F31-B613-965700338E85Introduction
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

The Street Dweller

Introduction
Whoever we might be, we all desire respect & dignity. Here is a street dweller’s self appraisal that is food for thought:

They call me “Homeless”

but don’t care to ask my name.

I prefer “Street Dweller”

’cause the streets are my home.

They call me purposeless

but life on the streets spell

“Survival of the fittest” that

makes me far from useless.

They call me hopeless

but I have hope as I am

streetwise.

From place to place I trek,

I know bins full of food,

and outside which shop to beg.

Bus drivers know me,

turn a blind eye when I hop

on for free rides with my dog Fred.

They call me senseless

but I put to use the common

sense given by the Most High

when I look to the sky and

can tell if it shall rain or shine.

Then I know where to lay

my head; in someone’s shed, a

fold up box, open air?

anywhere as long as it

is miles away from a fox!

I am a street dweller.

Yes, among life’s fittest.

A survivor, that’s who I am.

©DEN-The Witness – 24/09/2016

Note: Upon request, I have given permission for this poem to be incorporated in a play with other poems at a College in Lansing, Michigan USA in November 2019 to coincide with Thanksgiving. The play is about the life of a group of homeless people and entitled “I have a name”.

Reflection & Encouragement:

One who lives in a home, has an address to go to can easily think “why would one want to live on the streets! Whatever name one chooses to be called “Homeless” or “Street Dweller” does not change the fact that they are in an undesirable status in life!”

Such a thought is not necessarily malicious, most people prefer a roof over their heads, a place to call home. However as we can see from this poem, the street dweller is expressing how they perceive their situation or circumstance which is contrary to how people, to his or her knowledge perceive it.

The street dweller has accepted their status as their reality. The circumstance or situation which resulted in them being as such is neither here nor there, they are proud to be living on the streets and making good of their life on the streets. They have learnt to survive and have dignity and self respect. Their descriptive prose is also saying loud and clear: this is who I am, take it or leave it! They actually compel one to respect them.

A number of reflections and lessons can be derived from this poem as well as words of counsel and encouragement or exhortation, here are some:

If people superficially put you in a box, assume things about you or stereotype you because of how society and others perceive or treat “people like you” i.e your economic, social status and race or cultural background, it is actually only you and you alone who can dismantle those superficial or stereotypical assumptions about who they think you are or how they expect you to behave.

Not that you have to make a conscious effort to change their minds or attitudes about you; Your manner of self-perception, self-relation, self-definition and self-respect in relation to who you are and your circumstance will greatly influence how people treat and perceive you.

Despite being born as a member of a family you are a unique being.Unique also within one human race and within diverse racial or ethnic groups, social and economic group of the human race. There is only one you!

However if you find that despite being unique and basically your true self within and still feel unaccepted by some because of your social and economic status, nationality, race or cultural background there is nothing you can do about it. Everyone is entitled to their opinions. However you have to make sure that you stay true to who you are as a person and not be driven to say things or act in ways that agree with any false labels about who you are or what people think you are supposed to be.

People may not understand your circumstances or even know all the background experiences and elements which have made you who you currently are, but learning to connect with your true self within, loving and respecting who you are without comparison to anyone else will constantly shatter any adverse effects that negative words and actions may otherwise have on you.
There is a scripture in the bible “Love your neighbour as yourself”.

Self love and respect results in expressions of love and respect towards others also because you inevitably empathise, have compassion for or appreciate other human beings more. As much as you cultivate positive self worth so too you see the bigger picture; the world is full of people who are worthy to be loved and respected as you are. It is therefore impossible for people who have a habit of putting people down or taunting and backbiting to befriend you or be among your close circle of friends.

In the context of the Street Dweller’s message, being a survivor is being an overcomer from having your worth defined by how others perceive you. Whatever your status or circumstance in life, ensure that you can say like the Street Dweller:
“Yes, among life’s fittest.
A survivor, that’s who I am.”

Note: This poem & discourse “Who I’m I? It’s a matter of Perception!
is in my book “Wielding the Sword of the Spirit” a book of interrelating inspirational teachings/devotions & poems chapter by chapter.

Dare To Be

9EB82C53-1846-44EB-9862-842A75580C02Dare to be who you are created to be not a sorry image of another.

A clone of someone you are programmed to think is better.

Ride on your own cloud, the best your maker has on offer. 

When the going is good and you just want to bluff, don’t forget all you achieved even when the going got tough. 

Count your blessings name them one by one so you will never fail to see what the LORD has done!

©Nov2017 DENyamekye

Opioids Slave? Hell No!

Got me some bad back pain!
Can’t bend, at times I feel my life’s in vain.

Friends tell me “take some opioids to numb the pain” they are insane!
Doctor says “kill it with Fentanyl” is he for real?

Casualties overdose,
mistaken or for deliberate suicide, feeling forsaken.
Drug lords enrich coffers while Mr, Miss and Mrs in cheap coffins waste away.

Painkiller glitters, but is far from gold. It may hold up my back, a fast pain killer
but sure to finish me, a slow guardian killer to a point of no return.

It’s a known felon, unstoppable.
A marksman freely licensed to kill as it schemes to populate hell.

Opioids, away from me!
I’m as angry as hell!
I resist you,
with prayer?
natural remedies?
All the above,
backache and all!

©️Oct-2018 DENyamekye

I wrote this poem on 28th Oct 2018 inspired when I read this article
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-45984843
about a woman Maddie who died of an overdose after years of addiction to an Opioid (a painkiller drug). My sincere condolences to her family.

My prayer and hope is that many will resist the urge to accept offers to take drugs of any kind to ease pain, depression or just to fit in with friends who take drugs.

If you need help contact us, we can listen, offer counsel and give you the right information/resources you may need. You are not alone.

Contact: thewitnessinstitute@gmail.com

5C2F9AED-434A-4EA6-BA10-F865C1ECE191

Gang Life …Not A Life!

(Spoken Word Poetry)

Introduction: Gang life is a lifestyle for those whose self worth or purpose on earth is dependent on or derived from being part of a gang. 

For someone to become a member of a gang, there are reasons that include these three points; A desire to 

-belong to a family structure and feel accepted

-be loved 

-feel their opinions and life matters.

None of these three desires were fulfilled in their formative years at home among family members for various reasons and therefore as they grow up, the young people seek fulfilment through friends and acquaintances surrounding them. 

Many young people and adults have engaged in murder, robbery and other criminal activity as a result of being part of gangs. 

They have also self harmed through drug and alcohol addiction. 

Multitudes have ended up in jail and have been killed. 

3A1FB516-0B90-46A3-849D-EF05F94F37F8In this spoken word piece “Gang Life not a Life”, the futility and dangers of gang life are addressed and highlighted:

Gang life, not a life but a distraction, a bonding of vision borne out of anger, a uniting of mission unto danger.

Don’t wanna feel a reck! 

Opposing society is the gang man, sees his ego, it’s downsizing.

Don’t wanna to be kept in check! 

Inflating as somebody, while society deflates him: a nobody.

Don’t care about a pay cheque! 

Walking in step with the corrupt, in unison they trek to no man’s land.

Absolutely must gain respect!  

Hailed as a destroyer, gang land trophies to amass: preferred, than be mocked: a worm in the hood. 

Gang life, composing a future jail bird’s song.

Gang life, weaving a eulogy to come. 

Gang life…not a life !

©Mar2018DENyamekye