by Allison Titus
Who do you think you are fooling, December, with your fake Christmas cheer?
You do not tempt me with presents, wrapped in wonderful wintery wrapping paper.
Nor do you please me with your snow — the color of angel’s wings.
What about those vibrant colored lights?
Blinding eyes, the lights on those trees do shine.
The star on top of the tree that once shined brightly now dims as coldness and sorrow surrounds me.
The hot chocolate that once soothed my soul now stings me like an aggravated bee.
The liquid is cold — just like you.
December may be a time for children to enjoy crumbled cookies and playing on speedy, yet slippery sleds.
However, to me, it’s a time when my tears do fall — enough to fill the dark blue ocean.
The piercing pain of the needles that carved an image into my back is all in spite of you; it symbolizes who you took from me.
Oh December — how fake you are with your tell-tale-lies.
The joy and happiness you attempt to bring shatters before me, for I see the person you really are.
That far-fetched fantasy song about a fat man who brings joy to children sickens me.
Could that jolly man bring my aunt back to me?
Maybe then I wouldn’t loath you, December.