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This is a very personal poem. All my poems are personal, obviously, seeing as that's all I really know enough to write about, but this is a little more explicit, a little more tangible I guess. Thank you for reading, I really appreciate feedback on what works, what doesn't, what you liked, etc...
This used to be my favourite day of the year
No switching birthdays with jealous sisters
Presents taller than you when you sit down
Papa comes home for Christmas.
This used to be my favourite time of year
Snow and hot chocolate and toboggans
And hanging out with my friend and his dog
And galloping through the dark woods
Like wolves and husky puppies,
Screeching and yelling into the blanket of silence
Snowfall is soft and deadly slow
The cold creeps up along your veins,
Molecules of water freezing under your skin
Irreparable damage,
Watching snow fall unaware.
This used to be my favourite time of year,
No school and no one would get mad
About my grades, the holiday cheer
Ate my life away
I was replaced with a child,
The child they saw on the first day
Like new snowflakes before brown slush
Beautiful, marvellous, pure again.
Nothing like the lies of the holidays
To make you believe everything’s okay.
This used to be my favourite time of year
I didn’t care that I never got what I asked
I still felt wanted, ripping through wrapping
Like I was meant to be there,
Opening presents
That diminished in size and scope
Every passing year.
There is snowfall at night
Under orange lights,
It knocks your heart back against your bones
With a sense of loss and wonder.
You don’t worry about buying something lovely
You just make a really ugly card
With mismatched, larger than life uneven letters
And a big heart, scribbled between the crayon holly leaves
That’s all you need, ever, forever, to melt their hearts anyway.
No more sledding and hot chocolate and impatience
And sentiments of glory and eagerness and thrill
There is no more holiday
Those lies ebbed away like a tide covering a dead seagull
The white waters recede
The carcass is brought to light again
Its vicious smell staining your beautiful snowy world.
These lies that surround myths, the greatest myth
The greatest lie of all, born to families throughout the ages
That blood is the greatest bond, that your only duty
Is to your family.
Something deep and dark, within dark eyes and red smiles
Something cold and steel like within the blue eyes
Of the women you run the family
There is anger, so much anger
Running so deep in the veins of my crossed matriarchs
Christmas divided, one family and the other,
Never together, united, no blood could bring peace
And quieten fires that have been burning since
I was conceived.
But at Christmas, I used to forget this
This feeling of being the cause,
The true reason for divisions and lies
And six hundred dollar dresses you can wear only once
One night
For a grandmother who will never love you anyways
But at Christmas, I bought the lies eagerly
As eagerly as I raced through the red and gold and green
Wrappings to get to my presents.
Pandora’s box still contains hope
Gift of the gods
To be taken out like a shield
Whenever needed
Or remembered.
Is it really naiveté?
Maybe. Somebody asked me once
What I do when the writing doesn’t help.
I write some more.
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