Lope's Thoughts

We broke apart while carols filled the air, Lights blinking where your smile used to be, Love once bloomed like a candle in darkness, Now, wax and ash mark where it lay. Silence used to pull us closer, A quiet magnet between our eyes, No words needed—just breathing together, Two souls meeting without disguise. Our feelings were once tangled forever, Promises whispered without fear, We believed time would kneel before us, That love was safest this time of year. But Christmas has a cruel way of shining, It brightens what’s already gone, Every song becomes a reminder Of a future we won’t carry on. The tree still stands, the gifts still wait, But your name won’t be called tonight, The candle flickers, fighting the cold, Alone against December’s light. It’s not just a breakup—it’s timing, It’s loss wrapped in tinsel and cheer, Heartbreak hurts louder in December, When love leaves On Christmas, Yours becomes_ The loneliest day of the year. © 2025 Gloria Penelope

We gather again beneath December lights, Same chairs, same room, same practiced cheer, Laughter rehearsed like an old carol That everyone knows, but no one feels. Hugs are exchanged like obligations, Warm on the outside, cold within, Eyes smile first, then mouths follow, While hearts stay carefully hidden. The table is full, yet something starves— Truth waits outside with the night air, Jealousy sits quietly between plates, Hatred dressed up as polite care. Compliments sharpened with quiet comparison, Success weighed, failure displayed, Every story told to outshine another, Every silence is carefully staged. We call it family, we call it tradition, Year after year, we return the same, Dragging old wounds through tinsel and candles, Renaming resentment as holiday flame. By midnight, masks grow heavy on faces, The smiles crack but never fall, We promise love, we promise visits, Then leave with nothing settled at all. And so it repeats—another December, Another gathering, another di...

The lights shine bright on other doors, Laughter spills into the street, But in our house, Christmas knocks softly, As if unsure, it’s welcome here. No bags of goodies on the table, No wrapped dreams beneath the tree, Just quiet plates and careful portions, And the weight of what can’t be. It feels like Christmas wasn’t meant for us, Like a song we’re not allowed to sing, So we stay indoors, curtains half-drawn, Watching joy pass by like a passing train. Poverty shows no mercy this time of year, It sharpens the ache, it names the lack, Every smiling advert feels like a question We don’t know how to respond. Each year, December makes us feel heavy, Like a burden we never chose to be, Counting days instead of blessings, Hoping January will set us free. Yet still, in the quiet of our small room, Family sits, close and warm, No gifts to open, but hands still hold, A fragile love, weathered by storm. Maybe Christmas isn’t only wrapped in paper, Maybe it breathes whe...