I. Sinister, In Many Forms

Is it the sense of direction,

for i am on a road where all street signs point in two directions,

is it the life they live,

mine is an unorganized supermarket,

what seperates you from me,

do we not breath the same oxygen and hydrogen,

do we not shed the same salty human tears,

we want to love and be loved,

is it balls,

i have balls,

Is it the clothing we hide under because they ressembel our poverty,

what makes a man?

containing sadness and hate in a bottle till point of eruption,

is it holding a gun to a strangers head because our battles are silenced by the bullet,

is it beating the shit out of someone to prove our strength,

 this is a contest ,

what do i have to prove to you ,

are actions enough?

must the soul piercing words of mankind change the way we perceive one another,

must the media feed false information,

i will wait for better days,

You can hurt me curse me beat me cheat me humiliate me spit on me,

i will turn the other cheek,

I will seek revenge,

but thats all in time and right now your not worth wasting it,

not worth the chemicals in my brain to unbalance,

Only chemical i know is love,

What makes a man?

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