From Fuck to Faith
Dirty Dust
Some days are just like fuck.
Like, why even get out of bed?
Some are screwed from the start —
you know the ones.
The ones that grind on you,
like a grain of sand caught in a crease.
The kind where every breath feels like struggle,
where finding a reason is harder than the act itself.
And living turns into a question mark, optional.
Still, life never stops lifin’.
We’re stuck with the breathing gig,
even when we wish otherwise.
Even when the weight feels like a black hole
tied to consciousness,
a cinderblock necklace dragging us down,
a reminder of everything we failed to achieve.
But life keeps living.
And we endure.
Let me drop it real:
we are stretched and strained,
because we are being trained.
Brought to our lowest,
and then lower still,
to reveal what was hidden…
that the surpassing power
belongs to Him.
Our sorrow will one day
turn to joy.
I have seen it,
personally.
Still, we are pressed,
still we struggle,
where even living
feels like survival.
Yet even here we remember:
we are loved,
we are held to His bosom.
Not a single tear falls alone.
Each one is gathered,
like a mother hen draws her chicks
beneath her wings.
Every drop a witness.
Unto Eternity.