Society has taught me that, in order to heal, I need to blame someone;
I need to justify my mental havoc externally.

But society never told me that blame doesn’t soothe; it doesn’t bring contentment.
It drips like a wet blanket draped around shoulders, chilling to the bone and ruining all that it touches.

Blame perpetuates the mental skirmishes. Weeks have felt like days as I’ve come to realize a month has passed.
How I wish to be righteous in my pain; how I wish society’s lesson on placing fault stuck.

Except, I’m no more right than you, and this lesson doesn’t apply.
If it was as easy as sliding on two-toned glasses to view the world in terms of right and wrong,
I’d be able to fit through the square hole designed by society.
I wouldn’t be out here, soft and awkward to hold, incapable of heeding society’s standards.

I see a reflection of myself in your eyes, and a reflection of you in each person you’ve touched.
I know that my pain is shared and taken and given in an ever-changing form.
My desire to blame is really a desire to heal, but society never prepared me for that.

I guess this is all to say,
I don’t blame you.