1/18

I really wanted the content of one’s character to be the standard

Might as well call that a dream deferred

Gavels were thrown like Mjolnir ad nauseum

While I had my own, I kept it hidden

Were others truly that insecure?

Civility was a rarity of sorts even long after 1965

Of course, some would throw around that name

As some surefire deflection while ignoring how the namesake ended up

The scales were still tilted in the present

People deserve better

Untitled Ryuka

Hypocrisy grows
With these petty excuses
Custom-made for them
They were never that sorry
Until they were all found out

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

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.