December, To Me

December, To Me

Sad month

Month of loss, not joy

Month of birthdays

And growing older

Month of promises

Never kept, never kept.

The most sorrowful time of the year

For people with no families

Or families that do not love them

Families on t.v.

Making you look at your barren heart

And silent home

Full of emptiness.

Decembers used to be wonderful

When I was a child

And didn’t know that parents lied

About things that children were led to believe

But there was no Santa and no chimney

For him to come down

Even if he did exist.

It was lies, all lies

And especially………

When they told you they loved you

And then proved they didn’t.

I stopped believing when I was nine years old

And have had a hard time believing in any thing

Since that horrible night

When I was punched in the gut with the truth.

I tried so hard to believe

And to pretend that it didn’t matter

That nothing was real

I tried to make up a whole world

Just the way I wanted it to be

Every December for a long long time.

But in the end, I couldn’t hold onto the illusion

I had to let it go

I let it go that December eleven years ago

When I found out that fairytales never come true

Even with pearl white snow on the ground

And a full moon in the sky

December became to me, forever imprinted on my heart,

The month that good things died

Even as it stood as the month of my birth.

I still love snow

I still love babies

I still love laughing

I still love the moon

I still love love

And every now and then

I let myself gaze into magic

And starlight for brief moments at a time

Before I blow it into prisms of shadow

And watch it fall between my fingers.

I am a child that never grew up inside

Because I was born old

But not by choice

I am a child that never had the chance

To taste true love or feel it touch my face

Because it was always hidden behind a mask of lies

And to this day, I don’t know what it feels like

To be truly loved for more than a moment

Because that is all I have ever been allowed to have

Before the rug is pulled out from under me again.

December is the end of everything to me

The end of the year, the end of dreams

The end of hoping that the new year will be different

From the year before

And it never is, it never is

Every December I feel less needed

And less loved than I did the year before.

Which is funny

Because I love life

I love running and playing

And dancing in snow and rain

I love giving and gifting

And watching the eyes of others light up

When I show them my love

And my thoughtful gift.

And then they are gone

And I wish that I had somebody

That loved me the way I love them

That I had a friend

Exactly like me

That cared for me the way I care for them.

But December comes

And all those dreams go out the window

With the promised snow

That almost never comes anymore

To cover up the sad brown fields of my life

Instead, it comes in with hope

And goes out with hopelessness.

I love friends

I love family

I love sharing myself with others

And helping the helpless and homeless

I love the idea and the ideal and the myth

Of a world with peace on Earth and goodwill to men

But I do not love December

And now you know why.

⁧©

By Voo

December 23, 2012

2:17 a.m.

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