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Yenson Jun 2022
The poor girl said
I so sorry, but I'm afraid they may turn against me, please understand

The near brownies said
please forgive, they will start picking on us if we don't go along and do as ordered

The Preachers says
we have to be as them, we are cultists and already marginalized, if we didn't they'll isolate us more and it helps our recruitment

The weak and insecure said
this is a no brainer mate
for once we get the opportunity to feel relevant and play the fool without the usual disapprovals

The reluctant ones say
we feel oppressed and bad but they are coercing us daily and we just don't have a choice

So their moral compass compromised, their free-will imprisoned
their integrity abused and disrespected, their brains washed, their dignity rubbished, their minds poisoned and internally they are stressed, uncomfortable and feel enslaved. They have been dehumanized because their Narcissistic masters decides so...







Anyone who remembers watching the Wizard of Oz as a child will probably remember how horrifying the Wicked Witch of the West’s flying monkeys were. These monkeys were sent by the witch to do her ***** work, and the phrase has since become synonymous with people who end up doing the ***** work of a narcissist.

Flying monkeys get caught up in a narcissist’s plan — often to damage the life of another person. The narcissist may use their flying monkeys as piggy in the middle, carrying information from party to party. The flying monkey may use gaslighting tactics, open aggression, and guilt-tripping in order to make another person feel bad and weak, whilst shoring up the narcissist. And they’re often involved in pleading the case of the narcissist. Narcissists love having flying monkey, as it makes them feel important and means they can appear to be above the people below them who are caught up in the messy parts of the drama.

Some of the reasons people become flying monkeys include:

Self-preservation and protection.
Forming an alliance with the person perceived as like us or our organisation is one reason people adopt this role. Telling tales, spreading misinformation, and using gaslighting techniques against anyone who dares to question the narcissist might just mean you get to keep your job and don’t find yourself on the receiving end of narcissistic rage.

Rescuing the narcissistic "victim."
If you tend to fall into a rescuing role, you may feel compelled to jump to the defence of the narcissist who blames everyone and everything for whatever is going wrong in their life. Sticking up for the narcissist meets your inbuilt need to feel valued and needed because of your rescuer role.

A loss of sense of self.
Some flying monkeys are so browbeaten by the narcissist that they have far less capacity than otherwise might be expected when it comes to knowing right from wrong. They may have experienced years of emotional abuse at the hands of the narcissist and have lost a sense of self and independent decision-making along the way.

Loving the drama.
Some flying monkeys really thrive on the drama. When you’re involved with a narcissist, it’s almost inevitable that you’ll be involved in a few dramas along the way. What can beat the adrenaline of being caught up in lies, secrecy, and deception?

Being a narcissist.
Flying monkeys often have strong narcissistic traits themselves, including a desire for attention, a lack of empathy, and a desire to bully and manipulate others. They may be involved in a work, or other situation in which they know that their best opportunity to fulfill their narcissistic desires comes from allying themselves with a more powerful narcissists.

Being used by a narcissist to take care of some of the least desirable aspects of their business is always going to place you in a compromised, stressful environment and you should ensure that you have the appropriate support in place when you choose to change your role.
Kayalabo Ngudu Nov 2016
I Seldom express my emotions and
I wrote this for the Ngudu's to marvel and
For paps's and mama's heart to console  

Though words describe, portray
And say a lot about a person
You are not just any person
Through the 18 years of loud mouth cursing
The raucous in the early morning
Shady and unpredictable plots
Being mischievous and devious
Being revengeful then forgetful
Disapprovals leading to arguments
The cause of the damaged Stellenbosch walls
Were the ceaseless and reneged brawls

Through the 18 years of living
I feel like I have failed
Failed to sum up the words that match you
Having them convey and having people understand you
But I feel the words do not get you
Like a lot of people that do not get you
If you knew him the way I do
The marvel of being a Ngudu
The marvel of knowing him like I do

Lightened my shoulders
You lightened my darkness
I love you very much like Maya Angelou loves her brother Bailey

Not only is he the Head Boy
The light skinned of the family
Nor the pretty boy of the family by default
He is a Master before kings
The doctors verified it on the birth certificate before Qamani
Rightfully on his high horse being all high and mighty
He is my inspiration
He is my motivation  
The very reason behind my episodes of satisfaction
He is the Kid to the Son
He is Qamani Kideo Ngudu
My twin brother
This poem is originally composed by my nephew 'Songo Ngudu' dedicated to his brother 'Qhamani Ngudu' on his 18th birthday. Happy Birthday Champ #poetry #dedication #brotherhood #family #love
Chris Thomas Apr 2017
Down here in the undergrowth
The ground steals the sky
In a concerted effort
To help us walk upon the clouds
And help us dance on cotton stars

We lie in stealth
Just waiting to lunge
At all the poor souls
Who voice their droning disapprovals
And slink back to the wilderness

Beyond the embankment
There's a crystal reservoir
Shimmering with lust and sympathy
A place to fritter and drown the world
A place to scour the stigmas and the stains

So now we await the arrival
Of full-scale war on our borders
Taking our slow, bittersweet time
Time to rethink and reflect
Time to plant envy, and watch it *grow
دema flutter Mar 2019
Tell me how
I only break
to be strong and still,
how I only
take from me
to give to others,
how I get disapprovals
on my own pain,
how I wake up as
early as 6 am,
yet can't get up
until the regrets of
time gone to waste
hit at 2 pm,
Tell me how
to stop.
trisha Mar 2020
if i was heartbreak
then what was love
if matches were lit up
why do u act so absurd
you painted me a whole lot of bad
what the **** was i supposed to say
in the courtroom full of disapprovals
i had to turn away
charge me guilty
for the things i ******* didn't do
yes, i broke your heart
but don't forget,
you ******* broke mine too.

- why is it always a one sided story?
Craig Verlin Jul 2021
Just turned nineteen, we sat
along the bottom of the bunk bed—
holding hands and nothing else
—reading from the big compilation
of Bukowski poems that I kept
folded up and tucked in a pocket
of my backpack as an anchor
through those early years.

The cottage was empty and quiet
except the circling ache of the ceiling fan.
Only blocks from the northern shore,
the others had gone to lay blankets
in the sand—even in a mid-spring chill,
with sweaters on—to drink the cheap
wine we stole from the corner store.

You told me you enjoyed Bukowski
because he gave voice to a self that you
had never known you had.
A self you wanted to explore and better understand.
You—with your suburban, two-car
garage upbringing—had never smoked
a cigarette until we met.

In the million hours since that hour
that we sat and took turns yelling out
lines of “Bluebird” to get a better feel for
the words as they took shape in our mouths,
there have been more cigarettes.

There have been more drugs that left our
outlines in sweat stains on the mattress.
There have been more broken glasses,
shards in-between our toes, and
mistake tattoos penned in our skin.
There have been more falling-outs and car crashes
and fathers with voiced, finger shaking disapprovals.
There have been more curses and
hospital visits and apology letters
turned to kindling or tucked in drawers
to be left behind.

There have been fewer poems.

— The End —