Can I be Blamed?

cranky spanky
she calls me. mrs. meany pants from my brothers.
can I really be blamed? hard weeks make tensions run as high
as the temperature in a certain valley in California
pulse beats strong and fast. my head aches from the sheer brute force
attempting to knock down the walls of my sanity. they stand tall mostly.
yet sometimes curve under the strain.
adrenaline runs through my veins. the bad kind, anyway.
the kind that makes you jumpy and jittering. the kind that keeps you awake
tossing and turning in your bed
like a ship being tossed in the roiling waters of an ocean of self doubt
tears spill from my eyes like drops of acidic lemonade spilled
on a warm summer day
my faults are obvious. flaws glare in the daylight, reflecting like mirrors, bouncing
doubts and bad thoughts across my brain
can I be blamed?