I’ve no one to blame
I suppose
but myself.
Isn’t that what they say?
It’s my fault.
I made the choices
I face the consequences.

So this is how it goes
I choose not to reach out
because my hand was
summarily ignored
slapped away
and shushed.
Weariness won, so I
retracted my hand.

So this is how it goes
pieces of my life swirling
like snow dust
each different, unique
each demanding attention
each piece important
and each piece out of control.

So this is how it goes
no one likes the snow
it is inconvenient
cold
slippery
it has to be shoveled
and scraped away to see.

So this is how it goes
ultimate self-destruction
put off by sheer will
delayed, inevitable
weak and thin
like tissue paper
in the wind and rain.

So this is how it goes
the taboo is ignored
but at what cost?
The snow is not shoveled
the rain rips through the paper
it seems there is never a convenient
time to deal with the weather.

Photo courtesy of Gerd Altmann on Pixabay.