Fault Lines

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Why is happiness so fragile?
It can disappear so quickly,
like the dandelions along
the roadside in spring.

Have you noticed how
quickly judgement comes
with those unfamiliar with
the scope of the night,
the serrated edge of
life, the blunt
edge of depression?

I sit in the grass watching
the moon rise and I
wonder if we can live
our way into happiness,
into being. I’ve spent
the whole of my life
on the precipice of
sinking deep, and far
into the bottom of
darkness. I’ve been
drawn to my limit, but
I always spring back
anchored by hope, by
faith. I always stand
back up and run toward
happiness, waiting for its
embrace, like being scooped up
in the arms of a strong man,
who loves me even if I
can’t see the horizon,
and I’m constantly stuck
between continents in
death cold current.
I never drop. I never stop
hoping.

-Tosha Michelle

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54 thoughts on “Fault Lines

  1. Tosha, wonderful always. This is a sobering poem for many I would imagine, especially for those that are creatives. Where does the artist go that others can’t? To the places where these words come from. What keeps the artist going? Hope! Wishing you a peaceful evening and a lovely morning! ~ Mia ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Very, very familiar for me, if I may be so selfish, especially recently. It’s quite lovely to stumble across such congruences of thought and sentiment, whether in their early moments of inception or through the course of their drawn-out life-reverberations. Every echo or ripple is a reframing or restatement, the world speaking back to us without our having to audibly pose a question. That’s what this made me feel.

    Liked by 1 person

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