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The Holidays for me are…

Just another shitty, fucking day in this cesspool


Annoying fluorescent lights, smiling people, the cold sting of winter, I despise them all. Every face overflowing with happiness, greed or joy. Do you know why they enjoy the Holidays so much? Because they have something to enjoy, to cherish, something to look forward to with people who look forward to seeing them.

I, have nothing.

They beckon for snow to come, hoping for a jolly, white Christmas. Because wrapped around them are their Gucci coats, their pelts. Without them, they would feel the frost creep into every pore, every nook and cranny of the human body, take a permanent residence in you. And with no way of evicting it, you’re stuck with this cold curse, constantly reminding you of your helpless existence. The only thing keeping the frost from taking over my body, is a jacket weaved together by a bunch of thrown-away material. I look at the people in their warmth in cold hatred.

They buy expensive gifts to showcase love and affection almost like a competition of who can love each other the most. Because we all know that love equals bucks spent. Yet, if I even attempt to put forth a dirty hand, hoping for mercy, all I receive back is disgust. Like I’m lesser than them. I’m not lesser than them, only less fortunate. How is it, that their hearts are cold and mine isn’t despite our circumstances? Isn’t this the season to be thoughtful, for sharing and caring? Why, even in the Holidays, am I fighting to just breath, to survive another day?

You think you’ve seen the face of humanity? Try living in poverty, and their true colors emerge. I am nothing but a disgusting liability in their eyes, like a rat in the sewer, who’s only purpose is to remind the people above of how lucky they are to avoid such a cruel and vile fate. I want them all to burn, burn in Hell.

I can barely sleep, the tremors of Holiday festivities constantly ring throughout the city, every day, every night. Like a constant alarm, ringing to remind me of my own failure and those who failed me. An alarm which wakes me from the dream and into this living nightmare. Don’t think I haven’t contemplated making that wonderful sleep…permanent. But every time, there is something, rooted deep within me, which holds me back. Perhaps the memory of my mom, or my survival instinct, or hope. Cause despite all this, my hope has yet to extinguish.


But I hate the Holidays with a burning passion. It never lets me sleep. It never lets me dream.

It never lets me forget.


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