Elle Vampa

hope is for the weak
the ones who should know better
than to await change in desperation
if life can’t get worse, hope it will get better

hope is for the lazy
the ones who should stop praying
to instead get up and fix their broken
if life can’t be friendly, hope it will get nicer

hope is for the wicked
the ones who should stop chasing
the grandest dreams of worlds improved
if life can’t be fair, hope it will get even

hope is for all the tears I’ve spilled
knowing better yet wishing different
for all the times I tried to leave it behind
and it found its way back into my silly heart

hope is for you
for despite its seeming futility

I hope
you are well

Elle Vampa

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Sooooo, I hate Christmas.

There, I’ve said it!

I mean, really: the tree doesn’t do it for me, nor the impossible amounts of food being forced down my sore throat.

(I will get into the soreness in a bit, don’t worry.)

Not the lights, or the films, or the oh horror Christmas songs decorating all radio stations with false cheer.

Ew to it all!

I hate Christmas.

It’s the most hypocritical time of the year and if you’re thinking Grinch now, do not even go there: he’s got nothing on me! Amateur.

Now, incoming soreness: I’ve been stuck with some sort of flu-cold-combination-maybe-COVID-infection for two weeks and I am done with it!

I mean, I was done with it two weeks ago when it started, but surely after a few days of coughing and sneezing and doing the whole blow your nose every two minutes and see it turn red within a day the worst has got to be over, right?

Maybe it adds to the Holiday Uncheer as I resemble a certain reindeer more than I’d like – and considering the recurring behaviour of this… flu (or whatever it is), it’s not the only year in which I could be out pulling a Santa sleigh –  if only I had antlers and could fly.

And even then, I’d still hate Christmas because flying all night through the cold sounds like a hobby I’d not be interested in at all.

But ugh, I digress (do I ever not?)

Anyway, points are: 1) I’ve been very sick, but am finally on the mend, and 2) I hate Christmas, except for Christmas cards.

And today, the first feverless day of the season, woohoo (insert sarcastic eyeroll here), I finally had time to write my cards.

And maybe, just a teeeeeeeensy bit maybe, I was putting it off anyway because I decided to send one to my deceased friend’s family.

Because, well… it’s the first Christmas without him. And if I feel it, then they must be crushed by it even more so.

To someone like me, who’d turn the Grinch even greener with Holiday-Hating-envy, writing Xmas cards is combining two things I despise most: Christmas and hope.

For on every card I end up hoping the best for the receiver, and I mean it. And I enjoy wishing them the best. It’s easy!

But what to share with a family for which the fairest lights cannot brighten up these darkest days?

I am four tissues in (one for the regular snot, three extra for the tears) and I do the only thing I know how to do well: I blurt.

Dear family,

I dislike Christmas, because it focuses too much on being around family and forces the need to have a good time, which I sometimes find difficult. And I can only imagine it being even more difficult when your family is no longer complete.

During these times, you are in my thoughts more than ever. I don’t think these events will ever become easier. But I hope that maybe one day, they will be less painful.

Maybe my card will be received with a smile.

One can only hope.

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I’m pulling one over Life, as I’ve decided to write a book. Well, a collection of poems more like. It’s going to be called Solitude in Red and will span 13 months, going from October to October. The third theme is Hope and the poem up there is part of the collection.