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,

every time 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

The Man Child…Still

Commemorating Mental Health Awareness day (10/10/2018) a poem (inspired by the image below)

The Man Child …Still

The contours around 

his eyes are cracked 

with smile tracks.

They hide internal

frowns, a well-worn 

mask.

Speaking to please,

he engages in many a 

tiresome task for 

accolades and praise. 

Still, his inner man

hears the voices of dread,

feels dad’s hands hitting 

his head. He wants to run, 

but no where is there to hide.

So he fakes strength 

and a life of fun.

Anything goes for

ecstasy and mirth.

Still, his inner child

dreads the break of day 

sits cross-legged, 

head buried as in sand,

wishing he would die or be

blown away.

Still…

©️20-Oct.2018 DENyamekys

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

Delusional

Sadly many wait for the light at the end of the tunnel, but remain static or unmovable… unable to even see the door open for them to progress, be transformed or change their circumstances. May we have the strength to face our issues head on and be realistic and accepting of tools and the helping hand here and now !