P.O.W.

Nothing good ever came out of those combination of letters. In fact it was the most unfair thing in the Mario games. The Goombas never stood a chance. But I'm talking about a different P.O.W. here. The periods after each letter make all the difference. It's my label. Not a label on a can that can be torn off. It's a permanent label, tattooed to me, free of ink, free of needles, free of charge. Works like a sharpie, permanent stains. Or kind of like soy sauce or blood if you don't happen to be carrying a Tide Pen on you.

I'm like McCain, but I don't necessarily see eye to eye with him. We're both P.O.W.'s. He's a Prisoner of War, and I, of Want. I want, and I want it all. I want everything from the valleys to the oceans. I want to be the King of the World, but that's a bit too much to ask. So I decided I might be praying for too much, so how about world peace? Battle world hunger? Free health care in the United States? Free train rides in New York? Free candy from the corner store in Astoria? Is THAT more realistic? Apparently not. Let me rephrase then, I'm not praying for it anymore. I'm begging for it. I want something, or someone to acknowledge that world peace is more important than the fact that President Obama's daughters might go to private school. Excuse me for stealing your line here, but I want change. Is that too much to ask? Why do Obama's daughters make it to front page news more often then important news? Why is it that we see catastrophes hit front page news more often then the words "Peace Talks in Consideration" or just "Peace"? Why do we spend our time stalking Obama's daughters fancy lifestyle, when there are plenty of daughters in Africa who can barely afford to eat? Chew on that food for thought.

McCain is a Prisoner of War, and I, a fellow P.O.W. A Prisoner of Want but also a Prisoner of Work. Whipped and tamed by society to spend grueling hours studying graphs of a function that can't even drawn a green line of peace between one country to another. Whipped and tamed by society to spend grueling hours learning the rate at which a ball falls to the ground when fired with x velocity at a y angle of elevation, when in truth the "ball" is just a nickname for the next missile we're aiming at our enemies. Whipped and tamed by society to spend our lives working, earning money, just to throw our salaries into tax dollars. A Prisoner of Work, and these handcuffs have no keys. The spare? I swallowed it.

The list doesn't stop there. A Prisoner of Want, a Prisoner of Work, a Prisoner of Wonder, a Prisoner of Wandering, a Prisoner of Words, a Prisoner of Woe. What I mean to say is I'm Prisoner WONDERING about the direction we're all headed, WANDERING around in attempt to find answers to our stupidity, only to hear the WORDS, "You're too young to do anything about it. Even so, you're only one person." Yeah, and with that point made. I'm a Prisoner of Woe.

It's not in my nature to be passive here. It's just not me to sit around and go with the flow. I might be young, but I'm not too young. I might be only one person, but that's one more of a person you'll ever be, you spineless thug. Learn to stick up for your beliefs, dammit. I'm a Prisoner of my own name, Will(iam). It's just not me to be passive, and I'll forever be a Prisoner of that. I'm a Prisoner of Will. Better yet, I'm a Prisoner of my own free Will.