Your sadness is not beautiful. It’s not keeping you warm. It’s not keeping you company. You don’t feel it right now but your sadness is sinking you. It’s slowly taking over your body, biting your soul and splitting your heart. Don’t let it crack you open. Fight it.
I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. If you fucking like something, like it. That’s what’s wrong with our generation: that residual punk rock guilt, like, “You’re not supposed to like that. That’s not fucking cool.” Don’t fucking think it’s not cool to like Britney Spears’ “Toxic.” It is cool to like Britney Spears’ “Toxic”! Why the fuck not? Fuck you! That’s who I am, goddamn it! That whole guilty pleasure thing is full of fucking shit.
The thing about sadness is that it never warns you that it will come back. You’ll end up with an aching heart again, minutes after laughing, and it will feel like you found someone in your house; someone who you thought had left.
After a long day, you just want to go home and shove the closest edible thing into your mouth and watch whatever is on Netflix instant. And on weekends, you try to psych yourself up to go out at night but then you realize you are just so damn tired and Netflix instant sounds awesome. And there’s all that driving and like, having to wear pants.
"And so I think this is where the work of choosing comes in. Love will sprinkle itself into your life in little opportune tid bits that are most often completely inopportune and you’ll have to choose whether or not you’re willing to sacrifice that pride wall you spent all this time building."
(Brianna West, “The Unexpected Places You Find Love Again”)
Only if I move my arm a certain way,
it comes back.
Or the way the light bends in the trees
this time of year,
so a scrap of sorrow, like a bird, lights on the heart.
I carry this in my body, seed
in an unswept corner, husk-encowled and seeming safe.
But they guard me, these small pains,
from growing sure
of myself and perhaps forgetting.