The World Saw the Stark Contrasts

Imagine if their complexion was multiple shades darker.

In this idiotic chaos, the world saw the stark contrasts.

Not just with some donkeys and some elephants alike facepalming, but others from the globe shuddered.

Melanin would’ve been an instant conviction if the shoe was on the other foot.

Felony charges would be tossed around like candy.

A harsher response would’ve been an understatement as they wouldn’t have made it to the steps.

If looting is bad (which it is), then what about the podiums, documents, and other things?

Why didn’t those who stormed the building just comply?

Those who screamed “law and order!” last summer didn’t practice what they preached.

While numerous initialed powers do their research, more faces popped up albeit with no perp walks on the small screen.

Three piece suits, stethoscopes, and even those who didn’t wear badges that day were in trouble.

That’s not getting into the severe omission of masks and the disgusting amount of human excrement smeared or poured around.

Why the zip ties, molotovs, guns, and other harmful objects? How is a shirt with “6MWE” somehow less offensive than the word “equality” to them?

Patriots? Nothing says loving America like waving a flag used by traitors (did you read the sarcasm).

The world saw these stark contrasts.

Are sound minds too much to ask for?

Entitlement Gone Wrong

Some of the biggest crybabies

Masquerade as tough guys

It must be so sad and morose

Having everything handed to them

And never having to prove their humanity

Coddling diminished responsibility

Kid’s gloves are handed by the crate

Downplaying everything as just a game or not as bad

“Oppression” is a lie from their mouths

While the plastic branches shield these disruptions

For shame…for shame…

Ospreyshire’s Identity Crisis Pt. II

Sometimes I don’t even know what Ospreyshire’s Realm is about

Perhaps I have so much to say

Yet I’m all over the place

Maybe I should only stick to my creative works

However, that would be irresponsible

Was I first known as an avant-garde spoken word poet?

Someone who makes written/typed poems?

Some random guy who likes international movies, documentaries, and anime despite mainly talking about it somewhere else most of the time?

Someone who has opinions about real life things?

Perhaps I don’t know what I’m trying to be anymore.

Was everything so cluttered and this realm reflected that?

I wonder why anyone even cares what Ospreyshire is about

I’m a mere drop in a digital ocean

Was I molding myself to something else or was I being molded by my own insecurities?

I saw the numbers and my creativity on here severely lacked

Funny how more cared about my caustic rant about literal copycat movies mattered more than my own originality (assuming if they weren’t angry or shuddering reading those thoughts)

Ospreyshire needs to rethink things

After seeing a pit full of painted Ls

Ospreyshire’s Identity Crisis Pt. I

Intent was a chameleon

As the original endeavor was ignored

Maybe more ears popped up

When I threw pairs of pennies

Whenever situations got very serious

What is Ospreyshire’s realm?

What is Ospreyshire (about) ?

Why is Ospreyshire about so many things?

Consistency was too busy being in the corner

At the cost of a confused identity

The Unknowing Trauma Bond

Why was I so naive to try and befriend my eventual abusers?

Psychological violations were low-key

To my own brain and esteem

Shame on me, for only seeing their talent or their facades

No class ever taught me about gaslighting

Why was I so stupid thinking I could redeem them?

Saying sorry even for things that weren’t my fault

Became some kind of vicarious intent for these vampires

When I stood up on my own two feet

That’s where they wanted me to change my name to Billie Eilish (if she was relevant during those times, pardon the pun)

I might as well have been the son of Satan himself in their eyes

None of my peers went through what I went through

This arrested developmental was pure stealth in subterfuge

Hugging me while my back became a corporeal sheath to them

Those same parasites never had my consent when they got to my psyche

No AT Field was there to protect the cortex

Perpetual scapegoating…

Avoiding my judgmental glances…

It was a like those blizzard cyclones that plague New England even when those who control them flee to become a Northwesterner (Nor’Wester?)

I never saw agony in their beings. They might as well sing pop punk tunes and name a band after a Blink or Ataris ditty

#FirstWorldProblems is what their laments sound like

Stockholm got the better of my judgment and I never knew why

I’m sick of having to prove my worth, intelligence, and humanity to them, my own friends…

…and you.

Unknown Songwriters of Andalusia

The twelve beats and meters

Were new and recontextualized

It was the pop music from half a millennium ago

Yet no one knows the names of those who made the tunes or dances

Melodies were taken against their will

After they were crammed in the boats

Spanish and Portuguese replaced the original tongues

As the population grew back then

The modern population was unaware

Despite excavations and receipts brought up to the surface

Flamenco…Fandango…

Were native, but not in the ways one expected

Ascending Visions

Frequencies had tiers

This was new to me

Falsehoods plagued me even when I didn’t see it

Like a subtle poison, I couldn’t taste the venom until it was too late

I bonded with my abusers

And didn’t know it happened

Because not all mistreatment was physical

Psychological chattel…

I thought you only needed chains to remain captive

What a gigantic way to stand corrected

I wanted to go beyond these invisible barriers

As I overlooked catacombs full of visions

Something happened to me and I didn’t know it all this time

Shame on me for believing that good conquers evil all the time

While I have a tall stature, I was still far too small

To make real change

As I was called a liar despite telling the truth

I was called an instigator despite being on the defense

Everything was my fault whether I did anything or not

I was ever the scapegoat for others while others were too childish to accept their wrongdoing

Was it a miracle that I didn’t hate humanity as a whole even with all the things I’ve learned and experienced?

I guess some hope lies within

Avoiding misanthropy

The ascension of frequencies appeared once more

Waves on waves show up to the cumulonimbus shores before crashing down to terra firma

Wash away my impurities…

Morose Permeation

All it took was a revealed cover-up and one Tartaros of a sellout

The Bluegrass State never saw such a miscarriage

The ire magnified across the country

Was $12 million really enough for them in dealing with Breonna Taylor’s death?

Tell me if Justine Damond’s family got the same treatment

The insanity in this country wouldn’t stop there

There wasn’t a debate, but a yelling match between the two

Even pro wrestling promos had more sense and civility than that gaffe

Dog whistles and lack of policy questions were all it was about

Next thing, I know one was tested positive

But I thought it would just go away or possibly a hoax, right? (sarcasm)

These events indirectly added to the frustration

All I could see was a hopeless future

The lack of responsibility and equality was enough to darken my soul

My mind could only ruminate and catastrophize

I really am pathetic, aren’t I?

No matter how productive I am, I only saw bleak things

A Poetic Post About the State of the Blog At the Moment

My life has certainly been productive for better or worse

Unfortunately, life can get incredibly busy for me at two different salt mines

While this isn’t running away, my house needs to be in order

Don’t expect this avant-garde osprey to fly away

Just expect one day instead of three

Sorry, everyone

I will still put effort in whatever I do

My blog means a lot and I have things planned here as well as my other pages

Just be assured that when there will be posts, they will (hopefully) be worth your time

Protagonist Centered Morality In Real Life

I don’t know what is considered heroic in society anymore.

While I wouldn’t call myself the greatest moral guardian since I’ve fallen short, I would never get away with the things (let alone act on them) so many others would.

The innocent get slaughtered while the guilty are extolled.

The rules are goalposts moved whenever convenient.

They think that some petty reforms or cashing out millions would be enough.

What an insulting consolation prize.

I guess things are only evil when it’s not their “side” doing it much like the so-called protagonists having carte-blanche to do villainous things.

I could make a laundry list of fake fictional heroes gunning unarmed women, abusing children, committing genocide by starvation, or even eating other characters, but we’d be here all day.

Regardless of one’s opinions about scripture, Isaiah said it best.

“Woe to those who call evil good and good evil.”

There is truth as these double standards are shown.

Shame how everyone thinks they’re the protagonist in their own story.