The Pen and The Wind

If you ask some you’ll hear tale, 
Of how horrible I am,
How I frequently attack others over smallest faults,
How I batter them like a ram.

But how can it be that I attack,
When rarely do I speak?
Abuse taught me to internalize,
Rarely do my thoughts leak.

So why do I seem to some,
As a vile and savage beast?
 One who kicks those while they’re down,
And has kittens for his nightly feast.

Truth be told I’m not so bad,
Maybe a little clumsy with my words,
And when I try to explain my lack of malice,
My explanations are unheard.

The mind likes to make itself a hero, 
And likes to view the world in such a way,
Where they’re a survivor against impossible odds,
No matter what their “abusers” really did say.

I harbor no malice to anyone,
Unless they choose to strike me first,
But no one likes to see it that way,
They like to view me in the worst.