Misinterpretation

I watch as you play your war games under the safety blanket that is my name.
Children, butchered for my sake.
Little do you know that you can’t win me over with fighting.
Sometimes, you catch me while reading or, if you’re really really lucky, sometimes by writing.
But never have I ever took residence in a runaway teenager
or in a guy spitting out poisonous words, fooled by an illusion that it was his God-given right, that it fell under “freedom of speech”
and never will I ever come from mindless preaching
or useless teachings.
And never was I ever present because of a prick of a needle
or a gulp from a foul-smelling glass
I am a state of mind, and you, my dear, are out of yours.
You can find me in the simplest of acts and the smallest of pleasures
I am a three year old, running, butt naked, away from his mother
You can find me in that trust when you call a friend a brother.
I’m that feeling you get, when it’s so cold outside that you could swear, if you were to jump you’d freeze mid-air.
But my name has been dragged through mud
that was laced with innocent blood.
Radicals wore it as a badge of honor, as they set their countries on fire
I was promised to damaged soldiers who were just too damn tired
People have flung themselves off buildings or shot themselves in the head,
they tried to catch me, but caught death instead.
Some thought they’d even find me in their pitiful, self-destructive search for fortune and fame
But I’m not to blame
no, I am not to blame
I AM NOT TO BLAME
I’ve been misused
misplaced
abused
I am the grandest of gestures
The best of all creations
I am freedom, but even I’m caged because of your misguided expectations
I am freedom
And I’ve been the victim of misinterpretation.

Uninspired

This picture says it all.

I think they call it “Writers Block” I’m not even sure I qualify for that.

Will be back when inspiration hits.