As long as men die,
Liberty will never perish.

As long as there’s a sky,
Freedom will always be cherished.
Whenever men cajole and lie,
Oppression refills its chalice.

Mausoleums and refined cemeteries;
Hypogeums, perfectly aligned symmetry.
Resplendent medallions, ostentatious statues.
Dictators depict themselves as majestic stallions,
Doing everything to sensorily detach you,
Removing you from the frailty of reality.

A dictator will control discourse of all sorts;
They’ll hunt dissidents like it was a national sport.
They’ll turn the nation into their little fort,
And they’ll leave generations traumatised.
Opposition is demonised, criticism is stigmatised;
They’ll tell you that the enemy is everywhere,
And that entire communities should be marginalised.

A dictator will huff and puff until the house falls down.
Dictators **** entire countries, tearing sovereignty’s gown.
They’ll seize the population’s weaknesses,
Playing to your mind’s fears, its deepest recesses.

A dictator will convince you that he is a living god;
They’ll try to avoid you seeing through their fraud.
Remember that dictators are sacks of flesh,
Just like the rest of us;
They’ll rot in the ground when put to rest,
And their bones will return to dust.

methods fettered, advantages and breaks
extended, insults and numinous presences of pagans crept
craven idolatry ascribable degrees of rivalry kept
intensified, superordinate to unsatisfiable desires and anorectic shakes
stigmatised, wishes leading to perpetual astonishment, quakes
caused, centuries for a variety of relations acknowledged accept
altered limits, bounds of appropriation are overstepped
and eliminated, forms of every truth from different takes
are completed, esoteric states, totally upheld
a verdict of ****** reasonable risks, general history framed
and shared, shares of fully repeated trades
are allocated, limitedly missed usurious beginnings unparalleled
in cruel relations with transient rules proclaimed
with theoretical ideas, properties of a black jade

You were  my cross,
    stigmatised for loving

                                        you...

  
  But I'm crucified
for loving him.

You ripped the door off:
The electro-magnetic attachment
Was no match for your frustration,
Which goes to show,
You cannot guard against
A young man's anguish
Manifested as rage,
A judged and stigmatised rage,
Born of poor attachment:
An open door that was never closed.

It was the morning joy never came, shame’s flame burned bright like the sun on a Sunday at noon.
Nothing from this day on will ever be the same, nothing will numb this pain.
It was her birthday party, hosted by a group of well meaning friends who wanted to honour her and share such a beautiful time with her and though her birthday was on a Monday, the party held on a Friday night. It was barbecue and drinks then off to dance it off at one of the most popular and populous night club in that city.
She started early before the events scheduled for the day. The time came to boogie down and she was so excited that she mixed all kinds of drinks without thinking of the repercussions. Not for once how much more twice, after all she was a heavy weight with a high threshold.
So, a shot of bourbon, a swig of beer, a shot of tequila salt and lime all taken with hearty cheers.
She flirted with the *****, and when she returned and the bottle was gone she’d *** with tonic, a slice of lemon on the rocks.

She had started indulging long after her peers. I guess the pressure from peers caught up with her just when they were about to give up on her ever joining them on this vice.
When she decided to join the team, she still had control. She always was the one they’d depend on to take them back home safe and ensure no one tries any BS with her clique. This was when she started battling with insomnia and some crazy arthritic pain. So when the meds’ won’t work, she’d chug the bottle of *** or whiskey as if it were water and as if it could quench her thirst once and for all.
For every time she increased her level of consumption the more she wanted to transcend that level with an excuse as a justification for such an unruly behaviour.
“What created such an urge some days”? She’d wondered.  She tried to practice the pause before she drank up all the liquor that helped her drown her cares and fears because she was afraid she might drown in them if she didn't.

She was worse off when she started to work with a company that brews and sells all kinds of alcohol with access to a bar in the office.
You can only imagine what that made of her. I am certain if a light weight drew out some of her blood and sniffed, it would knock such a person out.
Things got worse and each time things  seemed to be getting better. She’d find herself swimming against the tidal waves of sobriety, seeking to safely carry her to the shores, far into an ocean of bottles and a sea of hangover whose storms are best cured by sailing back into the ocean.
After barbecue came the time to go dancing and while at the club, of course more drinks were ordered!
How would they know it was her party if there wasn’t champagne and other bottles on the table? How would they know her boyfriend and his friends were loaded and had the place on a lock down?
Tipsy and happy, she noticed a guy had been looking at her and asking her to come. She totally ignored him.
Later, he came and whispered some obscenities into her ears. She was so mad that she told him off and her friends who saw this happen asked him to go away.
At this point she needed some air, her head was spinning and she felt like the walls of the club were closing in on her. Being badly claustrophobic, she ran out, almost stumbling on herself and found a quiet place to sit.
This was a late bloomer who had always caught up on things late and so she was with the effect of alcohol whenever she indulged, she almost always took more than she could handle at the time, sometimes she felt the effect only but the day after.
She was trying to find her way back inside when she realised her legs suddenly couldn’t carry her weight,
Out of nowhere came the stalker, he held her arm assuring her he was going to help her back in.
That was the last thing she could remember before she felt a weight on her, a sharp pain in her back that woke her up from a stone poking her back and a *******.
Flail and helpless she begged as her speech slurred and realised this person wasn’t going to stop anyway so there was no point pleading.
She gave up trying as she laid there like one paralysed, whose condition had slurred her speech when she heard her name, she mustered her last strength to shout a reply before she saw her friend scream and ask “are you okay? What did he do to you?” He was trying to sneak and run when she caught him and called her boyfriend and a few close ones and they started to beat him without even asking what happened. Her boyfriend held her crying.
She begged him to please let him go, embarrassed, feeling useless and afraid that if more people gathered she’d be stigmatised.
She broke it off with her boyfriend because even when they had normal lovers’ tiff, she’d attribute it to events from the past and he was drained trying to convince her that it had nothing to do with it.
She lost her voice, her pride and her confidence.
She had beaten herself too hard and was still on it.
She blamed herself for how much she had had and all the events that followed and sank into a depression that seemed to spur her to drink more and not mind what might happen afterwards. She was alive but she was done living.
Her smiles became a veil to hide her sadness, her laughter cries for help, her grief so humongous she thought she’d never find relief so reareashe’d drown herself in more alcohol till even the bottles of liquor feared that she’d be the death of them.
25/10/17
r3d
#roadtorecovery
#everythingipretendtobe
#realrawandaimple
­#welearnasweteach
#writingright
#firesofr3d

Living on the borderline,
I’ll tell you I’m fine,
But really I’m broken inside,
Scared and living life inside the lines.

My friends don’t understand,
Employers will say your not fit for this role,
I’ll nod my head and walk away without a sound.
Because the truth is I am not fit for this world,
I’m too ill for society yet not ill enough for hospital.
Labelled as unstable and stigmatised as dangerous.

My psychiatrist will tell me I’m not trying hard enough yet 10 minute appointments won’t show you much.
You don’t see my pain, you don’t see my strengths,
lost in a world that doesn’t make sense.

The world isn’t built for people like me, lost, confused and riddled with anxiety,
I might be living in extremes
But don’t be discouraged,
I can love you intensely,
Please give me the courage.

Wondering if I shall ever be ok?
Scared and alone,
Cowering in shame,
Feeling like I’m on a decline,
living life on the borderline.