Some random poetry:

What makes us real is not some existencial quality like thought or breath
It is our immunity to that which unmakes the unreal:
We are not the ones who disappear when we walk away from the mirror.

We are not defined by those acts that we perform nor the friends that we have
It is the acts we cannot do and the friends we don't make that are our limits:
It is not the furniture, it is the walls, that makes a room.

Our nationality is not shown in the slant of our eyes, the sound of our words, or the color of our epidermis
It is revealed by our prejudices and shortcomings, watered down imperialism
Any nation is a hegemon in the mind of its citizens.

We style ourselves as humans first and kingdom animalia last
Ironic that we purposefully invert our precious leaned sciences to please ourselves.
It is in man's nature to deny the nature in man.