Who Do we Blame?

Who Am I to Blame? ​Who am I to blame for my lack of morals? Who are we to blame for our inability to provide? ​When we pick up the gun and hunt the innocent, do we have an option? Do we thrive in peace or violence? That’s our choice, our decision to make. That is our cross to bear. ​But who are we to blame when we are struck with habits that destroy our sanity? Who are we to blame when the world says no to us—the system, the elites? Who is at fault? God? ​Sometimes I ask these questions, and it makes me so sad. ​I sit here on this chair, shedding tears, realizing there is no one to blame but yourself. But is that really the case? Or do we just hold onto that because it’s the only proven fact—or because someone else went through the exact same pain and came out even better? ​Who are we to blame when a six-year-old is molested? Or when a twenty-year-old goes mad and walks the streets? ​My mind ponders on this so much. Can I blame the devil because he whispers a lot of choices? Do I blame myself for coming from a poor home, or do I blame my father? ​These are the questions of the now. Not when. Not then. Now. ​Who do I blame when I contract an STI—the girl, or myself for not keeping my dick in my trousers? When a dog goes rogue, who do we blame? The food it eats, or the master who raised it?