That Elusive Vixen
I wonder what it is about sadness
that makes us fall so hopelessly in love with it
or at least the idea of it.
Is it the endless inspiration that oozes out of its veins and into our all-too-eager ones
drugging our synapses with its cathartic scent
and sweet, sweet poison
until we are slaves; slaves pouring out the gloomy ink in our hearts onto paper
and watching it seep painstakingly
into other bright, beating hearts?
Or is it the fact
that sadness has always
been hovering around
and is here to stay
to make us feel more human
Or is it simply because
sadness is just so
But have you ever
to take a lunch break
and caught a fleeting glimpse of its shy twin?
My, it’s getting rarer with every passing sigh, poor thing.
Happiness, that elusive vixen.
Heard of it?
Or has your soul been too busy romanticizing itself
drowning in its own intricate self
to say hello to happiness?
To feel its rays
nudging their way
every last crevice
of your cracked little body
and flooding it—
no, fucking bombing it
When is the last time you laughed until your body collapsed and your heart flew out of your mouth and laughed right back at you?
When is the last time you smiled so wide your teeth crumbled into stardust and your eyes turned into starry, daylit constellations which blinded themselves with their incandescence?
When is the last time your bones ached with the pleasure of just being
and you stretched them until they finally snapped and exploded into loud, noisy giggles?
When is the last time you were truly happy, darling?
Or have you forgotten how to be?
What with sadness glorifying and being glorified in every nook and cranny of this heartbreakingly human world of ours
so that wherever you turn, it’s there, with its all-knowing smirk and irresistible charm.
Waiting for you to tiptoe into its alley and make it your eternal muse.
Well tough luck, baby, you got to fasten your grit, swallow your tongue and do it.
Make sadness understand
that you’re too damn beautiful
by its vacant promises and nagging tugs and empty glamour.
Shout, Scream, Yell
I DON’T NEED YOU TO FEEL EXTRAORDINARY ANYMORE, DAMMIT
until your lungs fragment into tiny angry pieces which then
inhale the newness
the suspiciously happy smell hanging about your body
and float back together, broken, but in peace
and I promise you, sweetheart, sadness will understand.
(it’s not all bad, you know)
So the next time you feel the overwhelming urge to
into its warm, welcoming embrace
squeeze your eyelashes, scrunch up your nose, stuff your fingers into your ears
Think of a baby’s tiny fingers curling around your own broken ones.
Think of your mother’s effervescent eyes, willing you to stay.
Think of that limping dog on the street who just really, really wants you to smile
Think of the lines on your father’s forehead curving up every time he looks at your ugly pouting face.
Think of your best friend’s bony elbows poking your gut until you can’t help but let that rogue snort escape.
Think, my love, think.
Because however gorgeous sadness appears to be on the surface
of your rawer than raw soul
it isn’t worth it.
So don’t you worry, little duckie;
just lean down and whisper to it
we’re going to be happy
not okay, not alright
And it will find its song again
Image Source: flickr.com