Father Christmas came and slipped
through the cracks
of my poorly constructed home
so quickly
and quietly
that I hardly marked the date.
I suppose it's my fault
for spending so much time
listening to angsty
drums and guitars
scream my name
that I can no longer hear
his voice in the tear
of wrapping paper
and Mr. Crosby's tunes.
But I caught a glimpse,
between the blinking
of red and white
on my tree,
when my mother smiled
as I opened my new suede shoes.
He's out there, hiding,
that ************
old man Christmas.
Hiding and trying
to make me change,
make me surrender
my joy to the jaded
state of adulthood.
I will not.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
Father Christmas came and slipped
through the cracks
of my poorly constructed home
so quickly
and quietly
that I hardly marked the date.
I suppose it's my fault
for spending so much time
listening to angsty
drums and guitars
scream my name
that I can no longer hear
his voice in the tear
of wrapping paper
and Mr. Crosby's tunes.
But I caught a glimpse,
between the blinking
of red and white
on my tree,
when my mother smiled
as I opened my new suede shoes.
He's out there, hiding,
that ************
old man Christmas.
Hiding and trying
to make me change,
make me surrender
my joy to the jaded
state of adulthood.
I will not.
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