I'm the Grinch! "All the noise, noise, noise!" boo who
The Battle Within, The Stolen Spark Christmas, they call it magic's gleam, A time for joy, a waking dream. But shadows lurk, a hidden strife, A battle fought within my life. For I'm a house divided, see, Two souls reside, eternally. The Introvert, in quiet room, Content with books, dispelling gloom. The Extrovert, with eager heart, Desires the crowd, a playing part. To laugh and sing, to join the cheer, And banish every doubt and fear. And Christmas comes, a yearly test, Where these two selves can find no rest. They clash and spar, a mental fight, For dominance on Christmas night. The Introvert pulls, "Stay here with me, Away from forced conviviality. The endless talk, the judging eyes, Just quiet peace, our greatest prize." The Extrovert cries, "No, no, not true! Embrace the fun, the festive hue. The games, the songs, the happy throng, Where we belong, where we're strong!" A tie it is, most every year, A compromise, born of silent tear. Half-hearted smiles, a forced embrace, A lonely feeling in this crowded space. But this year's different, stark and cold, A Christmas story left untold. My father spoke, the words were clear, "No Christmas this, no joy is here. We can't afford the festive spread, So Christmas dreams are truly dead." I understand, the bills are high, The worry etched beneath his eye. And if I could, if I had sway, I'd work and earn, and save the day. A job to find, a wage to claim, To light the fire, reignite the flame. They say it's more than just the loot, More than the toys, the sugary fruit. But those who preach this noble creed, Have piles of gifts, their every need. Is it so wrong, this rising rage? To feel the lack upon life's stage? I don't crave trinkets, shiny bright, Or plastic joys that fade from sight. It's not the presents that I miss, But cruel remarks, a venomous hiss. For when they hear my Christmas plight, Their faces shine with cruel delight. "Oh, look at you, the one forgot," Or "Daddy's love, you haven't got!" A fire ignites within my soul, A bitter anger takes control. I see the bat, within my mind, And smash the presents, leave them behind. Let them feel empty, raw and bare, The chilling sting of what's not there. And I would shout, with burning breath, "Boo hoo, go cry a silent death! Find someone who your tears will heed, While I am planting anger's seed." Is it so wrong, to want to steal, Their joyful Christmas, make them feel, The gnawing pang of emptiness, And silence all their smug excess? The battle rages, fierce and deep, A stolen Christmas, secrets to keep. A stolen Christmas, the end of days How would I escape this hazy maze?
