GHOST OF DECEMBER

December doesn't feel like December anymore.
I used to be so excited in inviting the season of joy
with my favorite people's special days and winter holidays.
The bright 10, 14, 25, 30 all gone,
the new darkest 18 is here.

Maybe 25 will be forever,
as I rejoice in the love of Christ.
I remember for the past 22 years
being the person who used to cherish the holiday spirit,
finding December winters aesthetic, warm, and cozy.

I know the feeling of living,
the full sighs we give when at peace
and harmony with our body, soul, and spirit.
At times, this is the only month
I disconnect from technology
and reconnect with nature and people.
But December doesn't feel like December anymore.

I remember waiting for December all year round,
even when I used to be Hindu.
So it is not about Christmas or gifts or cakes,
it is the spirit of December
that pours into my cup like the perfect hot chocolate.
But now, December isn't Decembering.
Maybe the spirit withered away.

The season of joy turned into the season of loss.
All I can feel is the eerie cold.
Cold, cold siren humming her dull seductive song,
making me trapped within the melancholy
of fear, pain, and trauma.

December doesn't feel like December.
It traumatizes my younger self since last year.
The haunting core memories
that make my heart stone cold,
that I couldn't drop my frozen tears
but choke on it with the gulp in the throat,
that I couldn't talk, shout, or scream for help,
or express how I feel,
but continue living with it being shut.

The ache at the core of the heart
bleeds shivers throughout my body,
making my brain feel the emptiness.
December traps me in the white veil of loneliness,
blurring the last drop of optimism I have within me.

December isn't Decembering anymore.
I used to visit malls before Christmas
for the past 7 years,
to dive deep into the month of celebration—
the excitement, the colors, the decorations, the people.
I might visit this year too,
but will it be the same?

December used to be perfect and vibrant.
But now I wish I could skip December,
or skip this life at least.

December cuts open the deadliest scar,
Ripping wounds I thought had healed,
Turning its long days into sharp nails,
Making me remember what I never want to feel.

It forces me to relive, revisit and recollect,
Memories I wish I could forget.
It engulfed my most prized possession,
Like a black hole.

In just one second, December stings,
Yet it binds me for eternity taking away my free spirit.
I wish it engulfed me instead
In that way, perhaps I’d be happier.
And might never hate december.

Wish me luck to trespass this cold monster.

Will I ever be able to feel the season of joy? AGAIN?

-        Takshara Kanagaraj