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As I've grown, a certain allergy has begun to plague me In the wintertime, a worm finds a way inside my body She crawls around in the warmth and finds shelter from the cold I mark her arrival as the onset of the Christmas season Not by wreaths nailed to doors Not by the radio coughing up bells But by hearing her squirm around behind my eyes And under my face - When I was a child, these images carried something different The blinking Christmas lights that cut the dusk to ribbons The electric smell of sap in my living room It brought many gifts into my honeyed hands Keep, hold, possess Precious time spent at home Precious time past Now it means sickness It means the loss of sleep The coughing But most of all - When I was a child I would sneak out of bed And I would hold a gift to my ear Like a seashell, to hear the ocean And I would gently shake it To hear what lay inside As of the current season I rose from bed to collect a glass of water to ease my weary throat On Christmas Eve - I pine for the intimacy The anticipation - I hate Christmas music That much has not changed The sweetness The bells, slick with honey The intangibility of it all The ability to remain the same I envy it - Christmas dinner carries a different scent Something sickly sweet Due to my seasonal affection My nose thick with oblivion all winter But then I smell it all Drifting from empty chairs Drifting from how my family carves their words around them Like the empty space in your mouth that a tooth was lost from That I trace over with my tongue That I am told not to It bends my teeth around it - I remember a Christmas where sickness plagued me for the first time I remember the words spilled over my shriveled form You poor thing Get some rest You'll get better And I believed it Not because it made sense But because belief was automatic then - Apathy does not arrive violently She takes an empty seat She shares dinner She carries a sweet smell She makes pleasantries She squirms behind the eyes And she teaches the heart to ration
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Dec 24, 2025
Dec 24, 2025 at 10:13 PM UTC
Seasonal Allergies
As I've grown, a certain allergy has begun to plague me In the wintertime, a worm finds a way inside my body She crawls around in the warmth and finds shelter from the cold I mark her arrival as the onset of the Christmas season Not by wreaths nailed to doors Not by the radio coughing up bells But by hearing her squirm around behind my eyes And under my face - When I was a child, these images carried something different The blinking Christmas lights that cut the dusk to ribbons The electric smell of sap in my living room It brought many gifts into my honeyed hands Keep, hold, possess Precious time spent at home Precious time past Now it means sickness It means the loss of sleep The coughing But most of all - When I was a child I would sneak out of bed And I would hold a gift to my ear Like a seashell, to hear the ocean And I would gently shake it To hear what lay inside As of the current season I rose from bed to collect a glass of water to ease my weary throat On Christmas Eve - I pine for the intimacy The anticipation - I hate Christmas music That much has not changed The sweetness The bells, slick with honey The intangibility of it all The ability to remain the same I envy it - Christmas dinner carries a different scent Something sickly sweet Due to my seasonal affection My nose thick with oblivion all winter But then I smell it all Drifting from empty chairs Drifting from how my family carves their words around them Like the empty space in your mouth that a tooth was lost from That I trace over with my tongue That I am told not to It bends my teeth around it - I remember a Christmas where sickness plagued me for the first time I remember the words spilled over my shriveled form You poor thing Get some rest You'll get better And I believed it Not because it made sense But because belief was automatic then - Apathy does not arrive violently She takes an empty seat She shares dinner She carries a sweet smell She makes pleasantries She squirms behind the eyes And she teaches the heart to ration
Happy Holidays!
LongBlackRiver
Written by
Dec 24, 2025
Dec 24, 2025 at 10:13 PM UTC
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