On Christmas Day, I still breathe
Patiently as I take the day second by second
The shadows don't go on holiday
My brain does not take a break
on Christmas Day
I curse the sun for ever hiding from me
I watch the smiles and forge one of my own
And it's not fake
Just because one emotion is present
does not mean that everything else is absent
On Christmas Day,
my gift is coming to me wrapped
in hurtful words and lies laced with sarcasm
Not from my family, no
But from myself
Because
On Christmas Day,
I still hate myself
But that hate is dressed in a red hat
YOU ARE READING
The Baby Cries in Black and White (journal + poetry)
PoetryJust my pseudo poetic paragraphs of bullshit and life.
