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Happy Christmas in Fucksville (standard:poetry, 618 words) | |||
Author: Leonard Becker | Added: Dec 16 2000 | Views/Reads: 3559/2076 | Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes) |
A Christmas Poem | |||
Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story At least not personal ones. ...and she wouldn't know that she could do better than me. Or how mean I can be, because everybody else in her life has been meaner to her... My meanness just couldn't compare. I started thinking about the rest of my life in montage, narrated by the second half of Layla, Constantly driving, Consistantly getting better. Christmas would be great togethor... just the two of us on Christmas morn, Opening our meager gifts Kissing in between sips of egg nog. No constant fear of parents taking bad pictures Or getting Or giving bad gifts, Because that doesn't matter. Christmas could be real, for a change. And not about Elmo or whatever other toy was fad at the moment. It would be a happy Christmas, Living blissfully in Fucksville. And it would be in Fucksville, because what would we do? Really? What could she do to maintain a life instead of by proxy through me? Nothing really. And no matter how happy we'd be together on that morning, We'd be ignoring the next day When she'd wig out in a diner, because a cup of coffee reminded her of her parents... Or when she'd call me Dad by mistake and I'd wig out... Or when she'd wig out when I kissed her good morning... And we couldn't go through one fucking simple day without wigging out... Because there's so much shit, clogging what could very well be happiness, And that's not fair... We'd have all the happy Christmases we'd want, But that wouldn't amount to shit because nothing else mattered. And that thought was enough to make me tear up. Not cry, But tear up. I told my Grandma to make sure she got them something nice this year. Maybe that could inspire that cute girl to do something cool Or maybe help me meet her. Course... My luck, The gift'd probably end with a guy. Tweet
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