Blame

In the quiet hours of the night, I sit alone,

My thoughts a tangled web, a silent moan.

I trace the lines of my life’s weary song,

And find myself in a place where I don’t belong.

For I am the architect of my own solitude,

A prisoner of my mind’s relentless brood.

I blame myself for the empty space,

For the loneliness that I cannot erase.

Was it my choices, my words misspoken,

That left me here, my spirit broken?

I dissect each moment with ruthless precision,

Searching for flaws, seeking my derision.

But deep within, a whisper softly cries,

Reminding me that blame is built on lies.

For loneliness is not a burden to bear,

But a shadow that follows, everywhere.

I must release the grip of self-reproach,

And embrace the beauty within my approach.

For in this solitude, there lies a gift,

A chance to mend, to heal, to uplift.

So I’ll hold myself tenderly in the night,

And bathe my soul in forgiveness’ light.

For blaming myself will only prolong,

The lonely echoes of this melancholy song.

Instead, I’ll find solace in the quiet embrace,

And let self-compassion take its place.

For in the depths of my own heart’s plea,

I’ll find the courage to set myself free.