What do you do
When there is no self-love for you
The clouds' tears immolate your soul
You long for the flash flood
To sweep away the debris of life
The sandbags you piled high
Begin to spring leaks of loathing
Soon the pin point holes begin to gape
A torrent of silt and muck
Slide between your toes
You leap back not in surprise
But rather at how hard the bite is
The numbness of these icy rivers
Creep up your legs
Clawing and freezing what had begun to thaw
There was a brief moment
A slight reprieve
When you had placed the sandbags
But inevitably
The pressure of self-hatred
Found every kink in the overlap
What do you do
When there is no self-love for you
And the barriers begin to crumble.