Remember when I loved the holidays?
Two years ago, I was wasting so much of our precious time
fighting with you.
Fighting over how important it was to celebrate with family...
Stressing to you the ways that made it important, and
How it was you, that had made it mean so much more to me.

Because, at the time,
we had been planning to become a family.

I can't stand the holidays, anymore.
It’s around this time of year when I remember opening up to you
about how happy it had made me to have you there,
and seeing you with my family,
had somehow felt like home to me.

Tonight, those same memories
are wreaking havoc within my skeleton;
shattering all the parts of me
that surgery could never piece back together.

Now I’m Hollow;
And Homeless.

Family used to be home,
but my family is no longer a sanctuary
or hopeful detour;
Like when your rings still weighed on my hands
and your dog tags around my neck.

With no monetary claims to prove my worth,
They see only shame -
In how I remedied my own temporance.
Their all too familiar absence,
Has yet to silence the unspoken questions
asked through eyes of disinterest
and judgement.

They think I won't see,
what they don’t want to show,
if nobody tells me.
But I notice every rehearsed attempt they make
to try to fix me…
To fix the person I’ve become
since I tried to erase your memory with self-destruction.

It makes sense, doesn’t it?

You killed us by becoming history,
so I killed us by becoming an addict.

Recovering from crystals
that melted into the air in my lungs
whenever I managed to speak your name again.
Recovering from every promise you made
and the all too familiar feeling of nostalgia
that’s both painful and pleasurable…
bittersweet.
Recovering from my true addiction
- You.

The holidays meant catching up with cousins
while you sat with my grandma.
You always listened as she shared her life...
A life that Alzheimers had slowly taken from her.
Like they did her memories of me.

My Grandmother never remembers who I am
when I visit or call…
So why, then, does the woman that raised me,
STILL ask for you by NAME?

Each visit results in telling her that you left me.
She asks me why I messed up, again…
what I did wrong, this time…
and if you found something better in this new woman.

Reminding me that I failed to be enough to stay…
For once.

Trust me… if I knew why nobody ever stays in my life, I’d tell her.
I’d be able to explain to myself why everyone that I grow to love
- LEAVES.

I grew to hate the holidays but maybe you’ll grow out of it.

I hope you got the family you wanted…
and I hope they help you love the holiday season;
like I thought you loved me.
I hope you manage to make so many happy memories
that your happiness surpasses my emptiness
at what I remember.
I hope she’s worth more to you
than the money you spend on her -
like I never could be.

When people ask me why I hate the Holidays,
I hope I think back to when I almost married my father,
sharing more than just his narcissism,
hidden intelligence,
or his love of alcohol…  
and how much that boy
-like my father-
hated the holidays…  
and tell them about you.

Whenever people ask you why you love the holidays,
I hope you think about when you almost married your mother,
sharing more than just her middle name,
her love for you & her home,
or her love of astrology…
and how much she
-like your mother-
loved the holidays…  
and tell them about me.