frail, rusty and frayed

it is the unusual weather and this strong, cold, siberian winds.
i don’t usually point fingers, am responsible enough for what i do or not do, what i feel or not feel,
but today,
i want to indulge and point fingers,
and not feel responsible for this sadness and loneliness that i feel,
it is the unusual weather
and this strong, cold, siberian winds.

i am used to not even checking if i got enough blankets,
or scarves, or woolen socks and mittens,
but the unusual weather
and this strong, cold, siberian winds
made me dig in my closet
and look for things i’d rather just keep there – stored.

just like what i would rather do with these emotions gone astray,
and you guessed right:
it is the unusual weather
and this strong, cold siberian winds.

i know that life is an accretion of
decisions, actions, steps,
moments,
ripples, words,
looks, glances, murmurs,
caresses, kisses, strokes of hair,
giggles, silent pauses over the phone line,
a signature on a page,
the rip of a check,
a thrust in coitus,
the turn of the screw.

but right this moment,
i can't dissect it all, don’t want to.
i just know i am sad and lonely,
and it must be this unusual weather
and this strong, cold, siberian winds. . .

and i let my tears be puddles. . .
pools. . .
i just want to.

i can’t always hold it all together. . .
for a day, for a moment,
let me be frail. . .

rusty. . .

frayed. . .

battered. . . but intact.