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…
Tag Archives: Poetry
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
Christmas in a Pandemic
So much separation happened
My elder extended family members were forbidden for us to see them at their living facilities
Or for them to leave their current homes
Everything was at a phone call’s length
Or a computer screen away
The feeling of hugs vanished
While I made do with what I had and got to smile
I wondered…
Who knows if it will repeat next year?
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…
I Wish I Was Never A Defeatist (At Least I’m Honest About That Flaw)
There are times where I wish I took a psychology course
To realize how much my psyche has been abused in ways I never knew how or why from subtle forms
The hobbies I like(d) became objects of ridicule
Social awkwardness manifested in itself
My heritage also made me something to hate regardless of my character
Apologies were spoken ad nauseum for who I was
As if my mind wasn’t flawed enough
So many things forced me to be an autodidact
“Why even bother?” I would say or think
“I know I’m going to lose anyway.”
Stop it, brain.
“It’s always the biggest jerks who get what they want. You need to be cruel to be on top even though you’ll never get away with it.”
That didn’t come from my mind this time. It was bad advice. Get thee behind me…
“Try reprogramming yourself. They think you’re a stupid robot anyway. You’re just a useless piece of –“
SHUT UP!
The violation of my self-esteem affected me way more than I thought. Shame how any affirmative thing I say about myself can be construed as an ego.
All I do was lose, lose, lose, no matter what as I try to squeak out a semblance of a victory.
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
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.
