WHAT WE TELL OURSELVES

there are sad things we can accept as fact or shrug it off
as our little voice whispers, depending on which small voice
is talking to you;  so picture this, as you think it through
in a house on a quiet street, lined with fences and trees
is a woman sitting on her barcalounger alone, on this last day
of the year, she is feeling unloved, still it doesn't have to be
as we all make choices daily- that's what we tell ourselves
still she cannot accept the fact of why her?-she ponders this,
with a cigarette glowing through clenched lips, she takes in
a long slow drag as the stifling silence completely surrounds her
all this time; so we surmise, it comes down to guilt of conscience there must be deeper things going on; we cannot get into her head, as she carries this around like an afghan shawl, it's her bitter pill- which she takes daily in a shot glass on a table by her side- steeling herself to cast away ghosts that appear from each year past- and all that it represents, will it be enough as the clocks ticks down, she can see the new year coming into view as she takes in a deep sigh, preparing  for the inevitable, she steady's her nerves for what lays ahead, she has no one else to blame, she accepts this as her norm

by Michael Perry