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


more hero-like




Or is it simply because


sadness is just so






But have you ever


told sadness


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.


Yes, happiness.


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


with laughter?


Yes, laughter.


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


to need


to be




by its vacant promises and nagging tugs and empty glamour.


Shout, Scream, Yell




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


and think.


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




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