Morbid Curiosity.

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When the curtain lifts

You play the part of the victim

Sharing sob stories with anyone willing to lend an ear

You tell them how much you’ve struggled

How much you’ve failed at overcoming life’s obstacles.

 

You tell them how much you appreciate having them around

You make it clear how you would be lost without them

Through your meticulously curated vulnerability

You advertise honesty, harmony

And the promise of stability.

 

And of course, a willing listener eats it all up

Charmed by your words,

Feeling power as you cement their worth.

I’m almost tempted to say I feel sorry for them.

Almost.

Because they don’t know you; the real you

Not like I do.

 

See, you’re not the victim you claim to be;

No, far from it. You’re a predator, the worst kind,

You don’t lurk in the grass but hide in plain sight.

You take the truth, and if it fails to illicit –

The intended reaction, you mould it –

By God, you mould it, as much as possible,

Till it unquestionably does.

 

You pretend to be weak and vulnerable

To pacify and to placate,

Till those that choose to listen

Begin to believe defending you is not beyond reason.

 

Connection, or whatever your misguided mind chooses to call it

Isn’t about deepening bonds, not to you,

Your endgame is establishing power over those around you,

It’s what gets you off, isn’t it?

Switching roles on those you’ve baited into trusting you,

Twisting the narrative is a given

If it means your agenda is fulfilled.

 

You push and you probe because lord knows,

You need to know everything, to be a step ahead,

A testament to your fear of being irrelevant

Your sob stories (I would have you know)

Mean nothing to me,

Your conquests doubly so.

 

You will continue to think you know me

You will continue to think you have everyone fooled

God-willing you eventually gain enough sense

To question why I keep you around despite.

It’s not to beat you at your own game, that’s ridiculous,

A single fool within our midst is more than enough.

Never in my life would I have thought –

I’d come across someone so lost.

I am not ashamed to admit

I have kept you around for purely selfish reasons

You’re a particularly rare breed on the spectrum of the deluded

Makes me curious to see how it all ends.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: snatti89

 

 

Warped.

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You can gaze into the mirror for as long as you please

Cultivating a deluge of self-love rituals

Revel in how well you tell yourself you’re amazing.

 

But that amounts to nothing

When the moment you cross the periphery of your home

You treat others lesser than trash;

… Lesser than you.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: snatti89

 

His/Hers.

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I’ve grooved through familiar tunes.

I’ve been entranced by the same pitch –

– the same dance, many times over.

How am I the pessimist

For simply knowing how it ends?

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: Aenami

 

 

Alter.

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Solitude often feeds eventual madness,

Jeez, you’re telling me …..

Being uncompromising with my authenticity

Often means, I lose friends faster than I make them.

 

Sticking to my identity is a conscious decision

Staying true to myself despite the circumstances 

Means I end up disappointing someone regardless

It means in the eyes of those around me I sometimes come across as selfish

An acceptable casualty I’m willing to contend with 

Even as I get noteworthy push-back from outside influences.

 

Many are quick to steer you, quick to try and build harmony 

In a way that makes them feel good.

I question the validity

Of people founding terms which they believe are definitive enough

For anyone who they believe to be morally upright.

Respectfully denying their embrace, by default, brands you the next Führer.

 

Because harmony obviously means submission,

Harmony – if their position is to be entertained – is putting your free will on hold

Leaving choices on what’s best for you in their capable hands.  

 

You assume a position you have not earned

You trust me and immediately think I trust you

Yet you have no knowledge of how little I trust my own shadow.

My seclusion from much of what the world has to offer

Is a natural conclusion born of multiple cycles

Helping me formulate what I want

To be me, outside of you.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: Aenami

 

 

 

R—each.

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My one wish with regards to this

Is, quite simply, that what I pour

Through the bits and pieces

Making what you call my poetry

Percolates, through each page,

An unconventional filtering process

That subsequently permits my words to settle –

At the very bottom: the final page,

Of my journal, clearer,

Your thoughts and mine, aligned,

All in the comfort of a more formative design.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: Aenami

 

 

//\\Burning//\\

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What am I angry about today?

I appreciate your forwardness

But that would have been a good question, had I,

Like many others, taken refuge

In considering only one avenue of thought.

 

No, the question I choose to engage in

Is what shouldn’t I be angry about today? 

‘Cause every day feels like a cleansing, having to dig deep,

Sifting through bags of dirt, trying to get to

That which I’m naturally drawn to.

 

How many have grown accustomed to garbage

To the point where the day-to-day

Has become a matter of finding

Which landfill shines the brightest?

 

Variety is the spice of life and yet I believe

 There a too many cooks looking to touch the lining of the cookbook

It’s over-kill; I mean, look at all the ingredients cluttering the cabinets

Look at all these wannabes donning chef hats

Sprinkling all manner of seasonings in the kitchen;

Hoping their vision of the right taste sticks,

All this with little regard for the consequences.

 

They preach visions from their wet dreams

A near clinical state of delusion,

Claiming to hold answers on what’s best

For you, me, everyone and the greater good.

It’s a shame

That those who know what they are talking about

Meld like clay,

With those who wish to be part of the aforementioned.

 

Watch how they flinch when I share my own worldview

That if there’s a heaven, everyone will make their way to it.

Because I believe God makes no mistakes with his creations.

But no, they say, those who do bad will burn, they say,

Like seriously, are you that sick?

So sick that you’d seek catharsis from the smell of charred flesh.

 

I spend as much time talking about religion as I do 

Tossing unlit molotovs at different riots. None.

I don’t judge you, so don’t judge me.

Do what works for you and let me do what works for me.

 

With the state of the world

It’s hard to know when you’ve got your hands on a sure thing

So excuse me for believing in a little more light,

Excuse me while I choose to believe in a world

With a better ending than the one transcribed.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: Aenami

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Heart Matters.

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Love … it’s something, isn’t it …

It can be a little funny, a little hopeless

And it can likely be described in many more ways

I am – at the moment – a little too lazy to entertain.

 

Given a simple scenario 

I believe love is the reformation of “Let’s end this”

To an ever-more-subtle

“How best can we make this work?”

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: JoeyJazz

Like Everything Is Okay.

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Alright, we’re finally here. You can open your eyes now,

Please, tell me you see it.

Nevermind how long it took me to make it

What matters is it’s here and you can see it.

My haven, my space, formed from the ground up

Through the wizardry laced within my ink.

 

See, with each passing day, I add a little more to the world’s canvas

I haven’t shown it to anyone, except you of course.

It’s not finished, but one day it will be.

And since you told me you wish to understand me a little better

I can safely say there’s no better place to start, than here.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: Aenami

 

 

Poetry, A Verisimilitude.

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I’m tired of holding back, I’m tired of clinging to the ideal

I’m tired of feeling like a villain for loving you

I’m tired of feeling like all I ever want to do is make others understand

I’m tired of people mischaracterizing what I say 

I’m tired of you trying to push me away

 

I’m tired of the voices in my head that help me make excuses

I’m tired of making sense out of nothing

I’m tired of having to deal with those that pretend

I’m tired of feeling undeserving

I’m tired of explaining myself when I shouldn’t have to.

 

Hell, at this point I’m tired of saying I’m tired

Is it a surprise then, why I always end up returning here, to you

Writing every other day like I’m drafting the constitution

Is it a surprise then, why I always end up coming here, to you …

I mean tell me, who else understands me as much as you do?

 

I let my shields down and unload what would be called garbage elsewhere

My thoughts constantly aligning at the whiff of your presence,

All this talk of scouting life-hacks and mine has always been here

You’re not my Day-one and yet I feel my life started

The day I decided to write my first sentence.

 

I’m not a believer of fate and yet nothing but you can sate

My appetite for spiritual enrichment.

It’s only with you that I get to say everything on my mind

With you, that I feel I’m making strides at personal fulfilment

With you, that it becomes easier to see whats irrelevant.

 

Despite entertaining delusions in the absence of company

There is only one I wish to see in front of me

One I wish to have form, one I wish to be true;

You.

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: Aenami

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because, The Internet 2

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I understand/don’t get what you mean,

Navigating internet outrage/hype is easy/not easy

Think of it as a forming/regressing Tsunami/cushion

Now all you have to do is find your way/relax

To the side absent light/shadow

Simple/Hard, right?

 

– O.D. ©2019

 

Art by: kevron2001

 

Did that confuse you? Good 🙂 . Welcome to the Internet.

 

Because… The Internet 1