The Christmas story

Call me up at Christmas
let me know I’m loved
by texting something simple
the same sentiment to everyone
burn me up with notice
invite me quick with glee
forget that it’s my birthday
forget once again about me
call me up at Christmas
to make yourself feel good
forget that I exist
unless you want me too
call me up at Christmas
I’ll answer with good cheer
but when it comes to News Years
I’ll drink to my own health
call me up at Christmas
so you feel good about yourself

Merry Christmas

Inspire me
with Christmas meaning
tell me I can give it freely
remind me that my bitterness
is only strong if I give in
remember what a miracle means
love yourself and chase your dreams
child like oh so it seems
but then again we decorate trees
remember that your life has cost
the wrapping of the present often lost
but here it comes oh once again
can we relive what has been
take us back to inspiration
love the season for what it’s have us

Family talk

You smell like cheap perfume
you hug me until I gag,
can’t remember the last time
you were really quite as fat
you hug me and say you miss me
Say you love me to the moon
and back

but I’m not back
and I don’t appreciate the gag
the jokes on you
because I’m tired of being used
you give only to take
the mistake is my own
you think that you are special
but your more common than mold

You smell like cheap perfume
it suffocates the room
I’m only here to be polite
it’s a holiday and I abide
you hug me until I gagged
then you look around and laugh
disrespect is relative
and I’ve heard
where your words been

Fiona

Opening the trunk she finds pastel sweaters-Easter wear. She’s not exactly pleased with any of this, but she grabs a blue one and closes the trunk. She’s extremely uncomfortable and it shows. In front of the full mirror see can’t shake it from her smile-she’s dying.
First of all she’s not a dress girl and when she does partake it’s certainly not in a sundress. Which, certainly wouldn’t be in white-or rather, eggshell.
She begins making faces in the mirror. Sticking out her tongue and bulging her eyes just so she can laugh a bit. The blue sweater goes about her shoulders, heavy, but once secure she fixes her bow. Yes, her hair has a pretty ribbon in it tied in a bow to make up for the short hair. At least that’s why-mother insisted.
She runs hands down her stomach hating how she looks like her mother. If it wasn’t for the purple hair it’d almost be like looking at her picture. They have the same face, same eyes, and nose. She thinks still gazing at her features but-I’m nothing like her.
She should get downstairs, but she can’t get her feet to move. Her mind wanders while staring at her face I’m not going to end up like this… oh man… I do look pretty though. She frowns. She does look rather fetching, and for a moment she wonders if her feet won’t move because of fear. She shakes the thought away exiting-defiantly.
When she joins the party her sisters beckon her, each holding glasses of brandy, eyes glowing with glee. The children had started the egg hunt. They exchange kisses and pleasantries while watching them. Her nieces and nephews laugh frantically, all so amused and for a moment having purple hair feels rather-foolish.