Frost on the Ashes
In the shadow of Christmas, I stand, frayed,
Where chaos once danced, now only I’ve stayed.
It was never a season of peace, of light,
Just the storm of their voices, the weight of their spite.
The tinsel, the laughter—so foreign, so cold,
A hollowed-out ritual, a story retold.
Family gathered, yet I was erased,
A ghost in the silence, an empty space.
Hate wrapped in garlands, resentment in the air,
Words sharp as ice, cutting through the air.
They closed the door, turned away from my cries,
Leaving me to freeze under winter skies.
And now, each Christmas, I hold the chill,
Of a family that shattered, of hearts grown still.
The joy they promise, a cruel masquerade,
A dream that died, a memory decayed.
But here I stand, scarred yet whole,
Fighting the darkness, reclaiming my soul.
For though the cold has a way of marking,
It cannot bury the fire still sparking.
So, I'll face this season, no longer undone,
Learning to breathe in a world without one.
And though the frost still clings to my bones,
I’ll find my warmth in the strength I’ve grown.
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