Left for weeks not a word spoken.
Then thrown into the trash dirty and broken.
Tried to reach out but no reply.
Guess it was easier to abort than to apply
the effort required.
The heart yet again stuck in the crossfire.
It’s that time of year where new toys glisten.
I was warned and should’ve listened.
Instead of being regifted, I’ve been forgotten.
Gifted to the wrong person spoiled rotten.
This year I asked Santa for a second chance— A brand new circumstance.
A home where I’m loved and cherished.
Not tossed away to perish.
Santa, bring me hope. One man’s trash is another man’s new toy.
All I want for Christmas is joy.
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A Glaring Omission
I made peace with being cast out by others pretty early in life. As lonely as it may sound, I don’t recall many times during childhood when those actions affected me any longer than a moment or two. Being deemed the weird/gay/weird gay freak by everyone from neighborhood kids to blood relatives allowed me the privilege of sneaking away whenever I pleased to dive deeper into hobbies that molded the proud pop culture geek and writer I am today.
By Jonathan Apollo6 days ago in Psyche
Comments (2)
This was so well written. Gosh, do I feel this
I feel this.