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storm siren Aug 2016
I've never been
One to allow myself
To get invested
And attached.

But hey, look.
You're something
I'd definitely have trouble
Getting over,
If I got over you
At all.

It was written
In my book of life,
Using my blood as ink,
Not that I mind.

I have scars to bare,
That show my own story,
That I wrote
However poorly.

And I remember vividly,
I believe it was seventh grade,
Other students stirring a panic,
Because I drew a rainstorm
In red ink.

And I remember
Confessing my ailment,
And it being used against me.

I remember
The destruction of my name
Upon things I'd never dare to do.

For mortal men
Will not find pride in your smile,
Rather shame in your scowl.

But such is the nature of cowards,
And I have found
That I am needless
Of cowards,
And cowards are hopeless.

I have found
In search through the mortal kind,
A being of the same like
As myself.

While our differences are
Many,
What makes us the same
Is powerful
And compatible
Enough.

Now, darling dear,
I have made a choice.
If they would halt their attacks,
I will finally
Erase myself
From his narrative,

For you are the
Only choice for me.

It is human nature
To feel torn down
But it is the nature
Of hope
To build you back up.
Things!

Edit: Erasing myself from "his" narrative simply means dropping the topic of my past and all those who decided to jump ship when things got hard.
J Aigboje Ohiro Aug 2016
Dream is good
sleep is cool
rest isnt a should
but i dont just sleep

i stay awake and embrace imagination
you could say i defile human nature
i will when my brain shuts down and my mind mature

Dream is Good but i dont sleep..
Human Nature, Defile Boundaries
Eunice May 2016
As ambiguous as the title may seem, it dives into the vastness of human nature, it explores a sensitivity that most neglect, and it leaves you breathless with each and every single word.

  At first glance, this book caught my eye due to it's boring cover and unfascinating title. But then I read it's synopsis and I was simply blown away by the stream of consciousness - how she took me from one place to another, how she gave me air and then drowned me underwater, how she sat on the edge of the moon with me and how the moon cut us with each swing between dreams and reality, how she showed me women of the Victorian era wearing ****** little skirts and how the whole street smelled like a smithy - like raw metals and earth, how she took me to the Hastings's backyard and made me an accessory to Alison Dilaurentis's ****** - I was buried alive!... and how she brought me back to the modern bookstore with dusty bookshelves and people walking past me like I did't even exist, like I didn't even belong here, and this wasn't even me...

  Ah! How she made me want more...!
This is such a transcendental experience. It is amazing how the words of a stranger can ignite your mind and give you butterflies. It is simply amazing.

Below is the synopsis:

"  M Train begins in the tiny Greenwich Village Cafe where Patti Smith goes every morning for coffee, ruminates on the world as it is and the world as it was, and writes in her notebook. Through prose that shifts fluidly between dreams and reality, past and present, and across a landscape of creative aspirations and inspirations, we travel to Frida Kahlo's Casa Azul in Mexico; to a meeting of an Arctic explorer's society in Berlin; to a seaside bungalow in New York's Far Rockaway; and to the graves of Genet, Plath, Rimbaud, and Mishima.

  Woven throughout are reflections on the writer's craft and on artistic creation. Here, too, are singular memories of Smith's life in Michigan and the irremediable loss of her husband, the musician Fred Sonic Smith.

  Braiding despair with hope and consolation, illustrated with her signature Polaroids, M Train is a meditation on travel, detective shows, literature, and coffee. It is a powerful, deeply moving book by one of the most remarkable multiplatform artists at work today."
Tell me,
Who are we to judge?
To sit upon our thrones
And tell people yes, or no.
What's the point?
I'd really like to know...
Oscar Mann Apr 2016
A beautiful smile becomes a fierce grin
Spewing  a vicious set of insults
For all I’ve done
And all you care
My best of intentions
Your most effective kind of indifference
I’m sick and tired of your bored look
Yet still I revisit and revive
For old time’s sake
Hoping each and every time
Things will be turned around

Put aside your viciousness
And instead of taking everything for granted
Grant me a bit gratefulness
Hard-earned thankfulness
And a bit of earnestness
I’m sick and tired of your tired look
As if my efforts to revisit and revive
Is useless nostalgia
And my hope that things will be turned around
Desperate stupidity
Oscar Mann Nov 2015
A poet and a poet meet in a café
Striking up a conversation
About everything and nothing
About love and lost love
About the dark side of the moon
And the nurturing side of childhood memories
About that one time they were both at a hapless poetry event
And about mirrors and magic and moonlight
And mice and men, terrible men
And about women, gentle, dangerous creatures
Who broke their hearts in many pieces
And how they turn innocent boys
Into almighty, all-knowing poets
They talk about their ego
An ego that has become huge
Despite the fact they are not read
And don’t make any money
They talk and talk and banter
And slander and meander
Verbally that is
Until they’re lost for words
And the secret code of life is cracked
Oscar Mann Nov 2015
The first time I visited the freak show
I nearly burst into tears
It wasn’t because of the cruelty of it all
It wasn’t because of their cruel deformities
It wasn’t even guilt, not even a bit
It wasn’t about the greed from the stupid ***
Who ran the freak show

I burst into tears because I immediately understood
That the roles were reversed
And that we were the freaks
We, the cowards, who hide our deformities
And denounce our guilt as useless morality
And clutch onto greed and a hunger for entertainment
While every day we ourselves star in the freak’s parade

And the freaks themselves they are not moved
By my dreaded revelations
For them the truth was always pure and simple
Bonded by their deformities
They understand kinship and compassion
As they clutch on to each other
And the parade of freaks moves past them once more
Oscar Mann Oct 2015
I used to think that fish
In little bowls and aquariums
Were pitiful prisoners of men
Deprived of freedom
Defined by frontiers
Hindered by limits

But now I know that fish
Might be happy in their prisons
Able to explore all there is to see
While humans keep on getting lost
In their prison of infinite possibilities
Marie Poindexter Oct 2015
-I am the silent observer
The shadow that nobody sees
The snake in the grass that lies in wait
The hushed voice that plants the seed

-I will lead you to think you are worthy
A gem that cannot be compared
I will raise you enough to achieve my goals
In the end leaving waste and despair

-Opportunist,  a name I've been blessed with
Manipulation, a tool of the trade
Your misfortune a road I will claim as my own
As well as your will,  I'm afraid

-For you see,  I'm your own human nature
The envy that you cannot control
The hunter that roams for advancement and gold
Yes,  I am the truth of your soul
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