looking back
on my own scribblings
now seeming ancient
and worlds away

i don't even remember
half of these thoughts
coming from inside of me

maybe my collection
is one of wise words
stolen from others

and barely filtered
through the fingers
that belong to my hands

but do even my fingers
belong to me
or have they been stolen

from my mother's heart
and my father's soul

where did the magic go in our lives
i am reminded especially in this season
that the gifts we give are hollow
the presents we receive mean nothing really

december is almost over now
and not even one present sits under my tree
and no, i don't mean a present for me

i have forgotten to run around
and pretend like i have a reason
to spend the bonus i didn't receive

i have a secret love affair
with old love letters
i pretended to write

i kiss my sister
open mouthed

i blame the hyper-awareness
i don't make excuses
for my shortcomings

i lovingly and tenderly
hold them
close. too close.
to my heart.

i felt silly yesterday
designing greeting cards
at my desk
with highlighters

i can't remember the last time
i did this
writing without purpose

i felt like i owed it to him

all i want for christmas is a song to sing